


Liar Liar

by Kenjiandco



Series: Liar Liar [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Crime AU, M/M, Multi, OT3, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-22 15:17:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 45,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2512346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenjiandco/pseuds/Kenjiandco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean and Eren aren't <i> exactly </i> criminals, although there's a handful of IT and Business Affairs detectives scattered around the Upper Midwest who might take issue with the statement.  They've just got...certain skills, that lend themselves well to certain tasks.  Like finding out just HOW good that new security system your bank paid 50 grand for is.  Making that pesky little indiscretion immortalized on the hard drive of a security camera just...not be there anymore.  Taking payment in cash and not asking too many questions.  </p><p>And then there's the new guy.</p><p>Marco's got a lot of skills, and some of them are pretty hard to nail down.  But there's no denying he's a damn good actor...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We Are Who We Are

**Author's Note:**

> Known variously on tumblr as the Ot3 AU, the Ocean's 11 AU, and the one time Kenji wrote a threeway while out of her mind with a fever.  
> I've been debating for awhile the best way to transfer Liar Liar to Ao3; it's probably best to think of this fic as a series of TV episodes (from a really sketchy torrent seed that's missing some parts) rather than chapters of a novel. The stories are more or less chronological, but you may have to fill in some gaps yourself. At least to start out with.
> 
> And in the spirit of a pulpy crime show,
> 
>  
> 
> [here's your themesong...](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uOsOcopQ4HY)

To anyone else, the back door of the house slamming open might come as a surprise. 

Jean and Eren are used to it.

“ _Gentlemen!”_ Levi proclaims as the door clatters off the wall.  “We have a job.”

Jean and Eren groan at him.

“ _Or_ I could go hire a couple idiots who are familiar with the term fuckin’ _work-ethic_ and let you two go back to starving.”

 “We’re only ‘gentlemen’ when you’re about to slap us with something you know we’ll hate,” Jean says, not bothering to look up from his DS.  “I like it better when we’re shitheads.”

“Or fuckasses,” Eren yells from the kitchen.

“Yeah, fuckass is good.”

“ _Your job,”_ Levi says, crossing the room and kicking Jean’s feet off the arm of the couch so he can sit, “will be a fairly typical smash-and-grab.  Seems there’s an airport security camera that saw a few things it shouldn’t’ve seen, and a few gentlemen willing to pay an _excellent_ commission for about 15 minutes of footage to just…quietly disappear.  _Without,_ let me be clear, the airport knowing where it went.”

Jean arches an eyebrow over the frames of his glasses.  “That sounds almost _legal.”_

“And _way_ too run of the mill to warrant you calling us fuckin’ _gentlemen,”_ Eren says, emerging from the kitchen wiping his hands on a greasy rag. “ _Hang on.”_ His dark eyebrows snap together in sudden suspicion.  “You never says _which_ airport.”

“West Jinae.”

“ _Ohhhh there it is.”_

 _“_ Levi, that’s _five hours_ from here!”

“ _Right!_ So you’d better get started!  And an excellent starting point would be putting on some _pants,_ Jaeger, Jesus wept—“

“It’s _Saturday,”_ Eren protests.  He looks at Jean.  “Whaddaya think?  Official or unofficial?” 

Jean sighs and saved his game, shoving his glasses up into his messy hair so he can rub his eyes while he considers.  “If we don’t want the airport smelling a rat, we’re gonna have to loop over the missing footage…” he sighs.  “I’m gonna need access to the camera, and whatever system it archives to…” a horrible thought occurres.  “Please tell me this idiot who’s paying us knows _which_ camera got him.”

Levi smirks without humor, tapping at the screen of his phone.  “He knows _where_ he was, obviously…but no, he does not know which of the airport’s…um…seven hundred and eighty seven cameras recorded his little…indiscretion.”

“…and I’m going to need a raise, a week off, some _really choice_ tequila, and a—“

“You can have fifty bucks for dinner and a six-pack.”

“Close enough,” Jean mutters.  “Looks like we’ll have to go official.  Pack the Bullshit Box.”  He looks at Levi.  “Can you get us any kind of _actual_ access, or is this gonna be more of a fling-bullshit-and-run kind of a job?”

“Jinae’s a pretty tight ship…” Levi looks thoughtful.  “I _can_ get you a faker, to run interference with the uniforms while you work the cameras.”

Eren perks up.  “Armin?”

“Doubtful,” Levi snorts.  “Because _Armin,_ being actually _good_ at what he does, has a legit big-boy job going all this week.  Unlike you two idiots.  I’ve actually had my eye on a guy for awhile now…he’s more of a second-story type, but he can bullshit with the best of ‘em…we’ll use this job as an audition.  You two need a babysitter.”

* * *

“ _Okay,”_ Jean says under his breath, just loud enough for the feedback monitor in his ear to pick up his voice.  “Who the hell am I?”

“You are from 10-4 Surveillance and Radio,” Levi replies in his ear, mouse clicking faintly in the background.  “You are aware you’re not actually on the security sheet ‘til tomorrow, but you’d kinda like to get started today because you know your bosses didn’t put anywhere _near_ enough time on the chart for this job and if you’re gonna have to pull overtime anyway you’d rather pull it on this end and not miss your daughter’s birthday on Wednesday.”

Jean frowns, picking his way across the airport parking lot and trying to look like he belongs there.  “Do I look old enough to have a kid?”

“Makes it better,” Eren says, walking beside him dragging a dolly loaded with Jean’s various tech stuff.  “Dedicated young dad working all hours to provide for his baby…we should’ve printed you wallet pictures.”

“What do we do when the _actual_ 10-4 guy shows up tomorrow?” Jean asks Levi.

“I _highly_ recommend you not be there.”

Jean’s pessimistic side is a little disappointed by how easy it is to talk their way past the security gates; he practically had to shoehorn his fictional daughter into the conversation (no sense in letting a perfectly good cover story go to waste, right?)  Levi flatly denies their pleas to commandeer one of the little electric golf-carts (too visible) leaving his strike team to grouse their way the length of Jinae airport’s grimy, rundown concourse, the dolly bouncing and catching on cracked tiles. 

“This is it,” Eren says at last, letting the thing rock upright with a groan.  “That’s the concourse sign in the pictures Levi gave us…where the hell’s the camera?”

Jean heaves a sigh and pointed at a tiny black hemisphere in the ceiling four feet above their heads.  “This night just keeps getting better.”

Eren managed to beg a ladder from a friendly janitor…a friendly _female_ janitor of course, Jean thinks, shrugging himself deeper into the protective shell of the battered leather jacket that mostly hid the beige uniform shirt he’d dug out of their Bullshit Box.  The amount of leverage Eren could pull with his dark skin and white teeth, and the faint sexy scar across the bridge of his nose and those _goddamn_ green eyes…

“What’s stuck up _your_ ass?” Eren asks, and Jean nearly falls off the ladder.  He shoots Eren a filthy look and dives back into the ceiling tiles, sorting through the tangle of wires that connects to the little fisheye camera.

“Just hold the ladder, grunt.”

“Worried about the new guy, huh?” Eren says, and Jean knows if he looks over his shoulder his smile will be warm and understanding and make him want to drop a wrench on Eren’s face.

He drops a wrench on Eren’s face. 

“Incoming,” he announces, about 10 seconds after Eren’s twisted safely out of range and the tool stopped rattling loudly on the floor.  Eren snorts.

“Okay, fine, point taken, just keep pretending nothing’s bugging you.”

“I plan to.  _Where_ is your network up link cable you _fuckin’_ piece of shit…”

“What are you _doing_ up there, anyway?”

“NDP.”

Eren rolls his eyes.  “And for the mere mortals among us?”

“Network diagnostic port,” Jean grunts.  “Runs a sweep of the whole system, and sets up a diagnostic file in the system archive.  _Which,_ as you may have guessed, has the added benefit of making a copy of all recent footage to sweep for feedback issues.  Because – _shitfuck, ow –_ while we know that _this_ is the camera that caught that Pixis dude doing…whatever he was doing… _there we go, finally—“_ he finishes clipping in the little diagnostic hub and shoves the tangle of cables back into their housing “we have no way of knowing which camera number it is in the network.” He snaps the ceiling tile back into place.  “ _Until_ I finish going through every feed my diagnostic sweep downloaded to figure out which feed matches this _particular_ five foot stretch of boring gray hallway.”

“Oh.” Eren says.  Then the implications sunk in, and he winces. “ _Oh. Ew.”_

 _“Yup.”_ Jean comes back down the ladder, pausing to grab his wrench off the floor.  “I am in for one long-ass night.”

***

Jean crosses camera number 366 off his list and tries not to look at the clock glaring at him from the airport motel room’s bedside table.  He clicks the stud through his lower lip against his teeth methodically, trying to force himself to focus: right now there could be no deeper hell than _missing_ the right camera feed and having to start over again from 1 out of 787.

He’s on 392 when the card-lock clatters and Eren re-enters, still damp and sweaty from working out.  He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, leaving it ruffled at all angles around his ears, and raises an eyebrow at Jean.

“ _Still?”_

“Fuck off.”

Eren perches next to him on the scratchy hotel comforter and sets down a cardboard Starbucks cup next to his knee.  Jean side-eyes it for a long moment before taking his hands off the keyboard with a sigh.

“Thanks.” He sips, and raises his eyebrows.  “Hot chocolate?”

“It’s 2:30, Jean.  If you aren’t asleep by four I’m gonna knock you out myself.”

Jean sighs deeply, letting the sweet liquid roll over his tongue…Eren had added cinnamon and whipped cream for him…fuckin’ asshole.  Eren shifts next to him, leaning back on his hands so his arm just barely brushes Jean’s back. Jean knows him well enough to recognize the gentle invitation, and after a second’s hesitation he lets himself slump a little, leaning into his side as Eren wraps his arm around his waist.  Jean lets Eren take some of his weight, shifting his cup of hot chocolate to his right hand, and returns to scrolling through video footage.

He’s known Eren for most of his life – all of it that he cares to remember, certainly – but in all that time they’ve never really bothered to put a _name_ to exactly what their relationship is.  Sure, it had been easy when they were younger: they were a couple of curious, horny teenagers, basically comparable to every _other_ curious horny teenager in the universe.  It had evolved as they’d grown up, inevitably, leaving them with their strange, argumentative, not-exactly-romantic not-exactly-platonic bond that neither one of them can really describe beyond the basic knowledge that it seemed to work okay.

(There _is_ a fairly succinct way of putting it, one that both of them steadfastly avoid and have since they were 12, and it is this: neither of them really has anyone else.)

“You feel like you’ve got a chunk of rebar for a spine,” Eren says, leaning his chin on Jean’s shoulder so the ends of his shaggy hair tickled his cheeks.  “C’mon, relax a little.  This job is easy, right? In and out.”

“Not if you think like _that_ it won’t be,” Jean mutters.  “’specially with Levi’s new…g-golden boy…”  his traitor voice hitches a little as the arm around his waist shifts and Eren’s warm hand spread over his thigh, thumb brushing against his hipbone.  “ _Ohhh_ c-come on... _nnh_ ” 

“Finish your damn cinnamon-poisoned hot chocolate, give the cameras a break, and go to bed,” Eren says flatly, and _very_ casually for a guy who was gradually trailing his dumb long calloused and scarred fingers up the inner seam of Jean’s too-loose cargo pants, fingers moving in teasing little circles as he works his way higher. 

“ _F-fff_ c’mon, Eren, I’ve _got_ to find which camera we need before m-m-morning—“

“It’s 467,” Eren says, barely keeping the amusement out of his voice.  “You passed it six screens ago.” 

Jean whips his head around to glare at him, and then hastily backspaces through the images until he finds himself staring down at a familiar set of hallways.  He jumps to the end of available footage…yup, there he is, glaring over his shoulder at a fuzzy image of Eren at the bottom of the ladder. 

“O-oh. Th-that changes things…” Eren chuckles and shuts Jean’s laptop with his toe, twisting his wrist a little to palm at Jean’s rapidly hardening half-chub through the rough fabric of his pants.  Jean lets out a long shaky breath and relaxes, one muscle at a time, lets his head fall back against Eren’s shoulder as his hand moves a little faster, and with a little more pressure. 

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Eren asks softly, nuzzling his nose gently against the sensitive spot under Jean’s ear. 

Jean squeezes his eyes shut, lining up a few stray braincells.  “I’ll find the… _stuff_ whatisface wants out of the system…make a loop to hide the gap…put that on the diagnostic file a-a-and then—“ he grits his teeth and grabs Eren’s wrist, stilling him long enough to blurt out the rest in a rush. “ _We just have to get onto their central computer and switch out the diagnostic file with the original.”_

“And then we just tell them it was 467 fucking up,” Eren says thoughtfully.  “So if they notice something weird they’ll just blame it on the camera being wonky…nice…”

“ _And_ we get a copy of whatever we’re looping over.  New guy just has to sweet talk the computer guys…shouldn’t be hard.”

“Cool. Now stop talking about work and let’s talk about things that _should_ be hard—“

Jean groans and shoots Eren the filthiest look he can muster for the guy currently sliding a hand inside his pants. 

* * *

 

"Where the  _hell’s_ New Guy?” Jean snarls, jittering from foot to foot under the open access panel exposing camera 467’s guts to the open air.

“Levi _said_ he’d meet us here…” Eren glances at his watch, shoving his hair out of his eyes.  “Shit.”

“We can’t wait any longer…the _actual_ camera guys are gonna show up any second.”  Jean rams his glasses up into his hair and pinches the bridge of his nose to stave off the oncoming  migrane.  “You’re gonna have to do it.

He made it sound so _easy,_ Eren thinks ten minutes later, staring blankly at the endless rows of files on the central computer screen.  All the file names read like endless gobbledygook to him.

“ _See it?”_ Jean says in his ear.  “The diagnostic file should be with everything else on the mainframe…look for the most recent update.”

 _Why didn’t I think of that…_ Eren shakes his head and hastily resorts the screen.  “ _Got it,”_ he mumbles into his hand, pretending to scratch his nose.  “Now what?”

“Just drag it over,” Jean says over a background of mechanical clanking…he must be neck deep in the ceiling again.  “It’ll ask you if you want to overwrite or copy and _whatever the fuck you do don’t click overwrite.”_

 _“Okay okay okay, sheesh._ It’s loading.”

“Good. Get that fucker on the flash drive and get out of there…as soon as I pull this module the whole file goes away.  I’ll meet you back on the concourse.”

Eren hastily thumbs his flash drive into a USB port and drags the file over.  The green bar, _file transferring,_ fills an instant before the cursor whirls blue and, true to Jean’s word, the entire file blinks out of existence.  Eren hums victoriously and shoves the drive in his hip pocket.

Nearly the second he steps out of the office he spots Jean lurking near the Starbucks on the far end of the concourse, looking _much_ too conspicuous.  He rolls his eyes and heads towards him…just in time for a tall guy in a bright turquoise knit hat to cannon into him, almost throwing him off his feet.

“ _Shit, sorry!”_ the other guy blurts in an Austrailian accent.  He hastily set Eren back on his feet, and if his hands stray too close to jeans or jacket pockets, surely that could be blamed on his flustered hurry…if you weren’t expecting it…

“Don’t worry about it.” Eren twists away from him as fast as he can, hand flying to his back pocket…flashdrive, check, wallet check, keys check, and the turquoise hat was already disappearing back into the crowd…it had an honest to god _bobble_ on it, Christ…

“ _Did you see that?”_ he mutters to Jean.

“ _Obvious pick-pocket is obvious.”_

 _“No shit—“_ and then the hand locks around his bicep.

“Yeah that’s him, that’s _definitely_ him,” says the Australian accent under the fluorescent bobble hat, as two security officers grab Eren by the arms and lock him in place.  “He’s got my wallet!”

“ _What? He_ ran into _me!”_

“Yeah, and it must’ve been a _perfect_ opportunity, huh?” the Australian’s wide brown eyes are the image of hurt.  “Huh, that’s what I get for trying to _help_ you…fackin’ Americans…”

“Sir, I’ll need you to turn out your pockets,” the guard holding Eren says, with the bare minimum of courtesy. 

“This is racial profiling,” Eren grumbles.  “The only wallet I’ve got is _this_ one, and it’s _mine—“_

 _“_ And the white one with pink flowers on it that’s pokin’ out of your jacket,” the bobble hat says, icicles dripping from his voice.

“Oh _what the fuck!”_

The guard pulls a woman’s leather billfold out of the inside pocket of Eren’s quilted jacket. 

“Billy Raconteur?” he asked?

“There’s a picture of my wife on the left side, second slot,” Billy (apparently) says acidly.  “Brown hair, square glasses, big smile…”

Eren shuts his eyes and gives up all resistance as the guards frisk him.  He’d been _so_ pleased with himself for not losing anything to the obvious attempt to pick his pockets…it never _occurred_ to him that the guy would _plant_ something on him…but _why the hell…_

The female guard, the one not holding his arms, pulls the sleek black flash drive out of his hip pocket, and Billy gasps.  “You stole my _jump drive? Tch…”_ the death-glare he levels at Eren was impressive: even Levi at his most venomous couldn’t have matched it.  “I bet my daughter’s first birthday videos have _great_ retail value, wanker.” 

 _Ohhh so that’s why._ Eren doesn’t bother to protest.  At this point all he can do was wait for one of Levi’s lawyer buddies…if Levi’s feeling merciful…

“If you’d like to come with us, sir, we need to file a police report—“

For the first time, the Australian’s venomous fury waivers, and he glances at the white-and-pink watch on his wrist; it makes an interesting contrast against the stark black tribal tattoos visible below his sleeve. “ _Fahk,_ my plane’s off the ground in 15 minutes,” he snarls.  “Look, I’ve got my stuff back, I’m foreign…I won’t press charges, alright? Just get that _fucker_ out of the airport.”  He snatches the wallet, and the planted flash drive, and sprints away down the concourse. 

 

* * *

 

“Well, it’s not a _total_ loss, right?” Eren says hopelessly, sitting on the edge of his bed while Jean prowls furiously around the tiny hotel room.  “I mean, we wiped the cameras at the airport…”

“You _realize_ that guy was probably working for whoever we were supposed to _not let get that footage,_ right?”

“Well if _you_ hadn’t insisted on keeping a copy—“

“ _My dear friends,”_ Levi says, almost drowned out by the customary slam of the door against the wall. 

“Oh _fuck.”_

“That _barely begins to cover it,_ Kirchstein,” Levi says with mock cheerfulness.  “What in the _nine circles of flaming HELL was that?_ Since when can you not recognize a basic _pick-pocket,_ Jaeger?”

“Don’t blame _him!”_ Jean snaps.  Eren raised his eyebrows; he had been _fully_ expecting Jean to do just that.  “Hey, you know what would’ve been _really useful_ out there? Someone who’s entire _job_ is to talk us out of sticky spots! _Hey,_ didn’t we want someone like that? _Double hey,_ weren’t we supposed to _have_ someone like that?  _Where the hell was the guy you were supposed to audition?”_

“He was busy auditioning,” Levi says cheerfully.  He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out Eren’s black flash drive, walking it across his fingers like a coin trick.  “And he passed with _flying_ colors.”

The door opened again, much more quietly this time, and Jean and Eren both freeze absolutely solid as a bright turquoise bobble-hat ducks under the doorframe and straightens up again.

“Uh…” he says awkwardly, fiddling with his white-and-pink wallet. “Hi. Sorry about all the uh…asshole stuff.”

“ _Billy,”_ Eren says acidly.  “What a pleasure.”

“It’s not Billy, actually…” the newest third member of their team rubs a finger over his freckled nose and smiled bashfully.  “It’s Marco.  Marco Bodt.”

 

 


	2. (And We're All Goin' Under)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter: a little bit of fluff, and a WHOLE LOT MORE blood. Consider this your warning.  
> Timeline: Immediately after ch 1 - Marco's first night in the US
> 
> [And a big thank-you to ThatFreckledBott for correcting my "I-haven't-taken-this-language-since-highschool" French!)

_He’s been on his own about a week when the hotel door stops opening to his keycard.  The money they left him ran out a few days before that, most of it gone on ice cream and pizzas he’d ordered in greedy glee, before the nights started to drag out and the dread began to creep in around the edges, and he started counting the change he’d shoved thoughtlessly in his pockets.  He’s mostly been eating what he could steal from the hotel: little one serving boxes of cereal and apples from the cheap continental breakfast, before bills started slipping under the door and he got too scared to leave the room._

_The need for food forces him out eventually.  Maybe if he hadn’t tried to wait so long, maybe if he’d been less desperate and sick and dizzy with hunger, he’d have thought to prop the door with something, but the second it clicks behind him he’s officially homeless.  (But at least he’s learned something from it…don’t wait until you’re desperate, you can’t think if you’re desperate, sometimes you can’t just wait for it all to go away.) He’s got fifteen cents in his back pocket, a cell phone with no charger, and an extra pair of jeans stashed under the dumpster in the alley, and it’s a few minutes past 6 am on the morning of his eleventh birthday_

_He sticks as close to the hotel as he dares: this is where they told him to stay, this is where they know he is, this is where they’ll come for back for him. And they_ will _come back for him, they said they would.  He does what his parents told him to do – stay near the hotel, keep your head down.  Wear your hat, wear your glasses, and never,_ never _tell anyone your name._

_He spends the first few days after the door stops opening flinching at shadows, hiding from anyone who comes near.  But it’s amazing…even in a God-fearing, family-valuing country like America, it’s amazing how invisible a hungry ragged kid can be._

_It’s more than a month (since his parents left, since they said they’d be back in a couple days, but they’ll be back, they’re_ gonna _come back) before anyone even looks at him.  He saw her first, a young woman with short red hair and wide, soft eyes, coming out of the hotel office, kind face pale and tight with anger.  She spots him hovering behind the dumpster he uses as a windbreak at night, and he’s ducked away and sprinted out the far end of the alley before she can come close.  He stays away until late that night, slinking back into the alley to shelter in the corner that can sometimes pass for warm._

_There’s two plastic Walmart sacks beside his dumpster, half hidden under a torn garbage bag.  They’re stuffed full of apples and tuna and canned food, even a few bars of chocolate; enough  to last a skinny kid for weeks.  There’s also a jacket, quilted and puffy with warm down, with the tags still on the sleeve and he knows he’s a rat, creeping back into a baited trap._

_He takes the food anyway, and the jacket.  There’s a note tucked in the pocket, and he stomps it into the alley mud without looking at the words._

_He starts seeing the red-haired woman more and more over the next weeks, as the nights get colder and longer.  She’s usually alone, but a few times he sees her back in the hotel office with another man, a man with white-blond hair and a face that could be any age from twenty to forty-five._

_They leave another bag of food, exactly a week later, but he’s got the first bag rationed out and squirreled away all around the strip-mall lot he’s coming to inhabit like a snail in an overlarge shell, and_ this _time he doesn’t need their fucking bait.  The hotel has an outdoor walk that runs all the way around the second floor, right over the door to the office, and this time he’s gonna drop her poisoned charity right back in her face.  (“Charity’s a trap,” his mom told him, her face tight and serious.  “Charity’s always_ always _a trap to gain your trust.  Anything they have to buy from you they don’t deserve.” He’s doing what she taught him, and they’re gonna come back…)_

_He’s watched her long enough to spot her pattern, and he knows they’re in the office when he settles himself on the balcony, leaning on the chipped, rusty rail with his feet swinging above the dingy asphalt.  He’s brought along a selection of canned tuna from the last bag, lids cracked and left to ferment under the dumpster for a few days, and he wrinkles his nose with a satisfied smirk every time the stench wafts his way._

_The office door slams open and he scrambles up, pulling his feet back onto the concrete ready to run, but his target doesn’t present itself although he hears her voice, talking on a cellphone in a fierce whisper._

_“_ No, _fuck, I’m_ not _sure it’s him, not visually. Kid’s faster than a rabbit and he takes off before we can get near him…no…_ no!” _she’s pacing back and forth, boots clicking on the pavement, and there’s a muffled smack like a fist cracking against a plaster wall in frustration.  “Hotel’s still refusing to cough up the records…not like the name’s gonna be real anyway, but someone’s got them locked up_ good… _this place has a rep, too, no questions asked no questions answered.”_

 _There’s a long, long pause below as he readies his rotten tuna bomb, waiting for the first glimpse of glossy red hair, and then she speaks again, soft and tired.  “This isn’t street-kid shy.  This is_ conditioned.  _He’ll never trust us…not strange adults.  But he_ might—“ _and even from the balcony above he hears the explosion of yelling on the other end of the grainy connection.  “I don’t like it either!” the red-haired woman hisses, “but it’s our last option!  They’re gonna come after him any day, they’ve had the parents for—“_

 _And that’s the last thing he hears, as the tuna can slips from his fingers and skids lamely over the edge of the balcony, as he spins away and_ runs, _clapping his hands over his ears not quite in time to hear the red-haired woman calling after him:_

 _“Wait! Wait!_ Jean!”

 

_“_ Jean?”

_“Don’t touch me--!”_

_“_ I’m _not!”_ and it’s not a woman’s voice yelling after him in the winter air, it’s deeper, closer…

Jean blinks, and the face above him shifts focuses, the shorter black hair and the skin spattered with freckles, dark eyes wide and worried.

“Oh.” Jean groans, rubbing his eyes as his brain claws its way out of the nightmare.  He’s sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, leaning against the couch (and coincidentally Eren’s butt, since he’s curled up in a tight, sleeping ball behind him)  “Hey, New Guy.”  He doesn’t mean it as an insult, but Marco winces, just a little, and Jean mentally kicks himself.  _That was mean…_

“I uhm…I was gonna let you sleep,” Marco mumbles, rubbing his nose.  “But then you started making noises and mumbling and it didn’t sound _happy,_ so uh…”

“Yeah…yeah, thanks.  That was one _bitch_ of a dream,” Jean mutters, mostly to himself.  He elbows the coffee table to wake up his laptop and clicks through the various progress bars.  The clock in the bottom corner of the screen blinks at him: 3:35 am…

“Can’t sleep, huh?” he asks, looking over his shoulder.

Marco shakes his head with a tired shrug, and the shadows on the face deepen for a second.  “Kinda…lost the habit, I guess.”  He runs his hands down his face, scruffing up his bangs under the edge of his turquoise hat.  “24 hour jet lag ain’t helpin’ either…”

Jean stares at him.  “You didn’t _actually_ fly in from Australia yesterday, did you?”

“Not _Australia,_ no…” Marco says, and his fingers curl unconsciously around his right wrist, tracing over the edges of some kind of intricate black tattoo.  “’m from New Zealand.”

Jean thinks back to the passport he glimpsed in the airport, the one that definitely did _not_ have a black-and-silver New Zealand cover, and decides not to ask.

“So what’s got _you_ up so late?” Marco asks, peering over Jean’s shoulder at the mess of dialogue boxes and progress bars on his laptop. 

“Ah, I’m not much for sleep either,” Jean says with a shrug, stretching his arms above his head until his shoulders pop.  He jerks his head at the tiny bundle of Eren occupying the other half of the couch.  “This hibernating grizzly here sleeps for both of us.”

Marco looks down at Jean’s motionless backrest with a faint smile.  “We’re not gonna wake him up, are we?”

“Nah, he sleeps like a corpse.  And he’s got his sound processor off anyway.”  Jean taps the side of his head, just behind his ear, and he sees Marco’s eyebrows jump as he looks down at Eren and notices the little off-white disc of his cochlear implants, mostly buried under his shaggy hair.

“’m just deep-cleaning my hard drive,” Jean says, in answer to Marco’s half-forgotten question.  “Getting’ all traces of Jinae Airport off my computer.”

Marco tilts his head and blinks curiously at the screen. “This is the stuff on that flash drive.”

Jean nods.  “That’s this window.  Other blue bar’s the video compiling, and the uh…the other _other_ blue bar is…kind of an insurance stamp? Tells anyone who knows what the hell they’re looking at that there’s no way I coulda kept a copy of the video. No blackmail, see?”

Marco nods, slowly, his eyebrows furrowing, and Jean watches his face in the dim light – he’s wearing faint traces of eyeliner, a little smudged around the corners of his wide eyes.  His earlier, ironclad self-possession seems eroded, softened around the edges as Jean watches him trying to put words to a question he clearly doesn’t want to ask.

“The video…” Marco says eventually, staring at the screen to avoid Jean’s eyes.  “What’s…I mean, did we…”

“What did we actually steal?” Jean says with a smirk.  “Levi didn’t tell you.”

Marco shakes his head, chewing on his lower lip, and Jean laughs softly. 

“Stop lookin’ so somber.  It’s a retired Navy general getting a blowjob in a service hallway.  Matter of national security it ain’t.”

Marco dips his head with a soft chuckle, and a few freckles disappear into the laugh lines framing his eyes.  “Bet he paid a _mint.”_

Jean smiles, resting his elbows on the coffee table and settling his head on his arms.  “Kinda measly, actually.  Didn’t really take this one for the money.”

Marco just tilts his head silently, and Jean rubs his eyes on his on his arm, voice muffled by the sleeve pressed against his cheek.  “Guy doesn’t have much money, really,” he explains.  “’s name’s Dot Pixis – you guys hear about him over in Aussie-land?” Marco shakes his head, and Jean snorts and continues.  “Right before he retired, the guy basically wrecked his reputation in the Navy by testifying _against_ a bunch of other officers in sexual assault cases.  He put twelve of ‘em on the street with dishonorable discharges, three in prison…and _wouldn’t_ ya know right before he retired they dredged up some conduct citation from the 1970s and stripped his pension.” Jean catches Marco’s shocked expression and grins at him.  “I do my homework.  ‘S far as _I’m_ concerned –“ he jerks his head at the inching progress bars on his screen “—at the _very least_ the universe owes the guy a blowjob from college chick with a uniform kink.” 

Marco giggles into his hand, and Jean flops back against the couch with a sigh.  Marco shifts to pull his knee out of the way, and Jean settles back into his previous slouch, this time leaning his head back against Marco’s thigh. 

“Hey…listen,” Marco says, breaking the cozy silence with a hesitant cough.  “For what it’s worth…I didn’t know _you_ guys were the team I was supposed to be joining…I mean, I wouldn’t’ve fucked everythin’ up for you if I’d known…”

Jean’s hand waves lazily in the air in front of his face, dismissing his concerns.  “We figured,” he snorts, not bothering to sit up again.  “Levi is _many_ things, but team oriented is not one of them.” His laptop interrupts Marco’s stammering response with a series of _bloops,_ and Jean lazily punches the air.  “ _Eeeyyy, victory!_ That’s a paycheck in the bag.”

“Goin’ to bed now?”

“Eh…” Jean hesitates for a second, wondering _how_ much Marco really needs to know about his aversion to sleep.  (When Marco talked about losing the habit, he was preaching to the goddamn choir.)  “I’ll probably find a few episodes of some dumb cooking show and see if my brain feels like shutting down.  You’re uh…y’rwelcome to hang out if you wanna…”

“That sounds nice,” Marco says, soft, and almost…shaky, like there’s some edge of emotion he’s trying to force down.  The strange, fragile moment is there and gone in an eyeblink and then he stands, stretching.  “Snacks?”

Jean salutes him with the remote and crawls up into the warm spot he’s left behind on the couch.  All the movement makes Eren shift and groan into his elbow, and then uncurl enough to fix Jean with a sleepy glare.

 _Go to bed if you want,_ Jean signs, and goes back to flipping channels.  Lifetime’s playing reruns of _Chopped,_ and he grunts with satisfaction and drops the remote.  Eren props his head heavily on one hand, giving Jean a long, searching look in the flickering TV light.

 _Planning to sleep?_ He asks eventually.

Eren glances towards the kitchen, where Marco’s rummaging through unfamiliar cupboards, and then back to Jean’s carefully impassive face.

_Were you dreaming?_

“I’m fine,” Jean mutters.  Eren just punches him in the shoulder, none too gently.

 _Were. You. Dreaming?_ He repeats, glaring for emphasis.

_It wasn’t bad._

_I’m staying._ There’s a curt finality to the way Eren’s hands move, and then he collapses back into his little ball, rotated 180 degrees so his arms are pillowing his head on Jean’s bony lap.  He’s out cold again before Marco returns from the kitchen.

Marco grins at the site of them, taking up Jean’s old position on the floor and leaning back against his legs, so there’s comfortable warmth snuggled against him from all sides and Tim Allen’s gentle voice admonishing the judges to come to a decision.

“Hey, so…are you and Eren…I mean, are you two a _thing?”_

Jean sighs.  He knew this question was coming. “He’s…ugh...”

“Sorry, was that too personal?”

Jean waves one hand in the air, dragging the other down his face. “Nah, it’s just kinda hard to put words to, y’know? He’s kinda like a brother—no, that’s weird, I mean he’s _family_ but not like, _family-_ family…he’s…” Jean glances from Eren’s unconscious ball in his lap to Marco’s increasingly perplexed expression, and gives up.  “He’s sorta like my not exactly brother best friend roommate _thing_ who gets me off occasionally. And. Um. Vice versa.”

Fortunately, Marco bursts out laughing, and Jean grins ruefully, rubbing his eyes under his glasses.  “I mean…Levi took me in when I was eleven, and Eren’d already been living with him for about five years…we kinda know each other too well.”

Marco just shrugs one shoulder, sort of smiling faintly over his shoulder. “Right. Kinda friends with benefits thing, yeah?”

“ _Sort_ of…it’s…” Jean groans, and lets his head flop over the back of the couch so he’s staring up at the ceiling.  “Ugh.  _Words._ See, this is my problem.  I _hate_ words, I’m _terrible_ at words, I got no way to tell him, y’know…you’re my best friend and you’ve stuck out _so_ much shit for my sake and I don’t know _what_ I’d fuckin’ do without you but whatever it is I’d _suck_ at it…I don’t know how to _say_ it.  But I can try my goddamned best to make him forget his own freakin’ name a couple times a month and hope to _god_ that says enough.”

He can feel Marco’s eyes on him when his brain finally catches up with his mouth, and his ears burn bright red against the rough upholstery fabric.  Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation making him speak so openly…or maybe, maybe there’s just something _about_ Marco that makes him easy to talk to. 

“It’s…yeah.  Weird, huh?”

“I like weird,” Marco says with a grin, stretching his long legs out and tilting his head so it rests against Jean’s knee.  “Weird is good.”

“ _Welcome the fuck home,”_ Jean mutters under his breath, and Marco laughs so hard he completely drowns out the mystery ingredients in the desert round.

 

Jean dozes off sometime around the second episode, and Marco quietly mutes the TV and settles back against the couch, trying not to jostle him.  Unlike Eren, who’s motionless as ever, Jean’s a restless sleeper, shifting and mumbling in a fitful doze.  He whimpers faintly, biting his lip, and his hand reaches out, fingers flexing like he’s trying to catch hold of something. 

Marco hesitates for a long, long moment, and then reaches back and slips his fingers into the spaces between Jean’s clutching fingers.  Jean squeezes instantly, hard enough to make Marco’s hand tingle in his grip, but his whimpering softens and he seems to breathe a little easier, not quite so lost in whatever he’s dreaming.

Marco pulls his knees up and rotates a little so he can hold Jean’s hand closer to his chest, and settles in to wait out the sleepless hours. 

 

 _He’s been dumpster-diving behind the Target on the other side of the freeway, heading back to his alley flush with success and loaded down with slightly wrinkled apples.  They’ll be good to eat for days yet, and even better for throwing at pigeons after that.  He even got a bottle of peroxide…he doesn’t have_ too _much access to mirrors, but his ashy bangs are getting longer and there’s a definite black stripe down the middle of his head now, and he’s sick of leaving his hat on all the time.  (That’s another rule, one of the weirder ones.  His mom had bleached his hair before they left Busan, ‘to help you blend in,’ and Jean sulked for_ days.  _He hated his new yellow, chalky hair, but it was_ important, _hide your hair, hide your eyes, hide your name, stay here ‘til we come back, he’s following the rules and they’re gonna come back…)  He’s so satisfied with his afternoon’s smelly labor he honest-to-God doesn’t see the person hovering behind his dumpster, not ‘til they call out to him._

 _“Hey! Hey…uh…_ como tapple tou?”

 _He whirls around, thinking for a second it’s the red-haired woman, before his rational brain reassures him that the voice is wrong.  It’s a_ kid, _dark skinned and dark haired, skulking behind Jean’s dumpster with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of a puffy fleece vest.  He’s a little shorter than Jean, and maybe a little younger, but he’s built solid…and hasn’t been living on canned tuna and cereal for a month and a half, probably._

 _The other boy glares at Jean (and his eyes are hard to ignore, round and bright, dark green) and repeats the string of syllables…and_ this _time, Jean parses through the thick, flat American accent and realizes with a spark of wild excitement that the kid just asked his name in French._

 _“_ Je m’appelle Jean! Et toi, comment t’appelles tu? Que-fais tu, pourquoi es-tu ici--“  _the green-eyed boy looks instantly, helplessly lost, and Jean breaks off with a huff.  Should’ve guessed from the accent, kid doesn’t understand a word he’s saying._

 _“Eren,” the other kid says, digging his hands deeper into his pockets.  “I’m Eren.”  There’s something weird about the way he talks…his voice is strangely…flat, guttural…almost like he has to_ think _about every word, and he tips his head back and forth as he talks, but he’s still fixing Jean with that too-bright, almost aggressive stare.  “And you_ did _say Jean, right? Jean Kirschtein—“_

 _Fuck fuck fuck fuck stupid stupid stupid stupid!  Never trust_ anyone _his parents told him, they emphasized adults but the rule was never trust anyone, never tell anyone your_ name, _and he should’ve known from the second this other kid opened his mouth…he’s in the middle of Nowhere, America…why the hell would this kid speak to him in French, if he wasn’t_ looking _for him?_

 _The whole panicked thought process screams through Jean’s head in a matter of seconds and he’s already moving,_ heaves _the heavy bag of apples into Eren’s face and takes off back the way he came, there’s a narrow breezeway right behind the hotel office and Eren may be heavier but Jean’s also willing to bet he’s slower._

 _The alley’s filled with oily, scummy puddles, icy water splashing around his tattered sneakers and soaking the cuffs of his jeans…and then the next two steps are_ warm, _and somehow his splashing footfalls sound different, but he doesn’t stop to think about it as he spins around the corner and almost steps on the red-haired woman._

_She’s crumpled against the cracked-plaster wall, head pulled back at an unnatural angle, and the blood pooling around his shoes dripping out of a deep, surgically clean slash across the base of her throat.  Her big, warm eyes are misty and clouded, staring up at the narrow sliver of gray sky at the top of the alley._

_“Shit…” that’s Eren, right behind him, fingers fisting in his dark hair.  “Shit,_ shit, Petra…” _he whispers, over and over again, and Jean’s too numb to run...his mouth drops open and his chest feels tight, like there’s a sob trapped behind his ribcage or maybe it’s a scream—_

 _Eren grabs his wrist and_ pulls, _Jean doesn’t get a chance to protest as he’s dragged past the red-haired woman’s corpse, everything spins and he makes a harsh, choked sound as his shoulderblades slam against the bloodstained wall.  Eren pins him to it, slams a hand over his mouth and then Jean hears what he heard…voices, in the alley behind them, heavy footsteps.  And then three gunshots, shattering the still air, and both boys jump, Jean’s whimper muffled by the hand over his mouth.   Eren’s bright eyes squeeze shut, tears clinging to the corners, and he whispers something else that sounds like a name… ‘Auro...’ He’s trembling, his free hand tightening on Jean’s arm, but he steps back, trying to ease respectfully around Petra’s body, tugging Jean with him.  “Come on,_ come on, _idiot! We gotta move!”_

 _“What’s_ happening?” _Jean whispers, his voice harsh and thick in his own throat, and he realizes somewhere behind the black fog clouding his brain that this is the first time he’s talked to another human being in almost two months._

 _“_ We _aren’t the only people_ lookin’ _for you, idiot, come on!” Eren hisses, grabbing Jean’s shoulders so their faces are inches apart, there’s footsteps in the alley, splashing through the puddles turning red with Petra’s blood and then they’re_ running.

 _Eren’s almost dragging him (maybe Jean’s not as fast as he thought he was) the pulse in his wrist hammering under Jean’s palm, but he’s_ lost, _he doesn’t know this place like Jean does and there’s voices getting closer._

 _“_ Left!” _Jean gasps, as they tumble out of the narrow breezeway.  “Go left! There’s stairs—“_

_There’s a spark of surprise, even through the haze of adrenaline and fear, there’s a spark of surprise when Eren trusts him, haring left without a second’s hesitation and clanging up the metal stairs._

_“Where now?” he whispers, and Jean pushes him right, around the corner of the balcony, there’s stairs down into the hotel courtyard and that means places to hide--_

_Something’s wrong, right ahead there’s something wrong, an odd dull patch were the weak sun isn’t making the wet pavement sparkle, a shadow cast by someone_ standing just around the corner _and Eren hasn’t seen it, he’s just sprinting blindly straight into the danger and Jean’s too breathless to gasp out a warning.  Instead he just hits the breaks, digs his heels into the slick pavement and throws his arms around Eren’s waist, jerking him back away from the corner as an arm lashes out and the blade that would’ve opened Eren’s throat hits his face instead._

 _Eren stumbles back, blood running in thick streams from the deep gash across the bridge of his nose, and Jean falls flat on his ass, scrambling away on his hands and knees as the man around the corner_ kicks _and he can’t quite get away from the toe of the boot that cracks against his ribs._

 _Jean keens, curling around the ball of pain blooming in his side as the boot draws back again, somewhere behind him something_ snarls, _feral and animal and the man stumbles as Eren slams into him, shoving him hard away from Jean.  The man (or…boy, Jean thinks, with a kind of terrible, dazed clarity, because he’s_ not _much older than them, he’s not older than 18, skinny and gangly and acne clustered thick on his oily cheeks) the_ boy _swears as he gets his feet back under him, bracing one hand against the balcony railing and spinning towards Eren, stabbing down at his face with the boxcutter in his hand—_

 _There’s a very long, silent moment of perfect stillness.  Eren locks eyes with the gasping boy, one hand held up in front of his face…with the blade of the boxcutter stabbed straight through his palm, the blunt, bloody tip about an inch from his nose.  His face is just…blank, it’s empty, wide green eyes dark windows with nothing behind them, blood clinging to his teeth.  The older boy still hasn’t let go of the box-cutter, his eyes wide and lighting up with panic and Eren grabs his fist, the blade through his palm now pinning them together, his other hand seizes his wrist and he wrenches him off-balance and slams him bodily into the wall.  Eren’s knee hits him under the chin as he stumbles, throwing him onto his back and Eren’s heel comes down on his nose,_ hard, _with a crunch that makes Jean’s stomach heave._

_Eren holds his hand up in front of his face, staring dispassionately at the blade through his hand, and then shrugs to himself and tugs it out, retracting the blade safely into the handle.  He’s not even breathing hard._

_Jean forces himself onto his knees, whimpering through gritted teeth as his ribs spark with pain, Eren turns his head towards the noise and something in his expression seems to come alive again as he looks at Jean._

_“C’mon…” he whispers, kneeling next to him and wrapping his arm around his waist.  He helps Jean up with a gentleness completely alien to the blood caked on his clothes.  Jean swallows hard, head spinning as he stands, and looks down at the dark, oozing puncture in the back of Eren’s hand on his waist.  He presses his own hand tight over the wound, doing the only thing he can to slow the bleeding, and for that moment they just lean on each other and shake._

_There’s footsteps on the stairs and they both jolt, Jean shuts his eyes, he can’t run anymore, he_ can’t… _it sounds like two people, maybe three, Eren straightens up and his trembling arms shove Jean behind him, and someone calls out:_

 _“Eren?_ Eren!”

_Eren lets out a ragged breath and Jean tugs desperately on his shirt, trying to get him to move, but Eren just catches his hands, his face alight with relief.  “It’s okay, it’s okay, I know them!  They’re not gonna hurt you, it’s okay!”  Jean shuts his eyes and sags into his shoulder…he isn’t going to trust these new people, not for a second, but he’ll trust Eren._

_Two men run around the corner towards them, and the smaller of the two sucks in a breath and sprints straight to them, dark eyes wide against his pale skin.  “Eren, oh_ God—“

_“It’s just cuts,” Eren says, leaning away from his hands.  “It’s just cuts, he’s hurt way worse than I am—“_

_Both men turn to stare at Jean, who quails away, trying to shrink behind Eren as much as he can.  The smaller, dark haired one kneels down to his level (it doesn’t take much) and gently puts his hands on Jean’s shoulders._

_“_ Comment t’appelles tu?” _he asks quietly, his French_ worlds _better than Eren’s clumsy attempt, and the familiarity of it makes Jean’s heart twist in his chest._

_“J-Jean,” he stutters, voice choking, and the two men exchange a brief glance._

_“_ Parles-tu l'anglais?”

_Jean just nods, swiping at his eyes, and the tall, blond man reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a battered handbill, cheap and grainy and badly printed.  He stares from the picture to Jean, and then looks at his companion and shrugs._

_“It could be…” he says softly.  “Right age, right skin color…if his hair is dyed…”_

_“_ Don’t talk about him like he’s not here!” _Eren snaps, and there’s a buzzsaw_ edge _to his voice, tears overspilling his eyes and cutting tracks through the drying blood.  “He’s right here, and he’s_ hurt, _they were kicking him on the_ ground! _We almost died and you’re talkin’ about him like he’s some kind of_ dog—“ _his voice breaks, and the black-haired man gently lets Jean go and runs his thumbs over Eren’s cheeks, wiping away the tears._

_“Your right,” he says, and Eren drops his head, shoulders shaking.  “You’re right, I’m sorry.”_

_“L-levi…” Eren stutters.  “I’m sorry…P-petra an’ Auro—“_

_“They knew the risks,” Levi whispers, pressing his forehead against Erens.  “It’s not your fault.  They_ chose, _they always knew it could happen and they did it anyway.  It’s not your fault.”_

_“Levi,” the other man says softly.  There’s sirens out on the interstate, coming closer by the second.  “We can’t stay here.”_

_Levi sighs deeply and squeezes Eren’s shoulders again.   Jean  hesitates for a second and then grabs Eren’s hand, holding it tight as Levi’s slate-blue eyes turn back to him.  “Jean,” he says in French, his voice still even and gentle.  “Can I see your right shoulder?”_

_“_ P-pourquoi?” _Jean’s free hand automatically curls around his shoulder, and he realizes he just gave himself away._

_“You have a…a mark, don’t you? A birthmark, or a scar?”_

_Jean just looks at Eren, who squeezes his hand and nods.  “You can trust them.”_

_“It’s just a birthmark…” Jean mumbles.  He pulls his jacket and his threadbare, dirty shirt off his shoulder, exposing the pattern of irregular, raised lines on his skin.  ‘Your coat of arms,’ his dad used to joke, and if you looked at it right it_ could _be, a five sided shield with an x through the middle, a little like a pair of crossed swords._

_Levi sucks in a breath, looking over his shoulder at Erwin, who’s staring at the picture on the flyer in his hand again – a picture of a little Asian boy about three years old, with a pointed nose and wide, amber eyes under his black bangs.   There’s a caption over the photo, in smudgy block letters:_

**M I S S I N G**

**SINCE 1993**

_“My God,” Erwin whispers, staring from the picture at the eleven-year-old boy in front of him, with thick black glasses hiding his distinctive eyes and his hair buried under a coat of ash-blond dye.  “It’s him.  It’s really him.”_

Jean doesn’t really _jerk_ awake, not really.  There’s a start when his eyes snap open, the feeling of his heart slowing down like he’s just stopped running, but that’s all there is.  He hasn’t woken up violently, catapulted out of his nightmares, for a long time, not since his body just went numb to his mind’s trauma.  If anything his body feels _heavy,_ lifeless and immobile.  The nightmares don’t scare him anymore, at some point he just plain _ran out_ of terror and it became this endless weight of exhausting pressing down on his chest…

…or maybe that’s the _actual_ weight pressing down on his chest, the more rational part of his mind chips in, as he drifts a little further out of the dreaming.  At some point during his catnap he’d slipped backwards and taken Eren with him, his warm, solid body flopped over Jean’s, their legs tangled together and his head resting on Jean’s chest.  He’s got one arm looped loosely around Jean’s neck and the other hand wedged somewhere under his butt, and the other hand gently holding his and wait a minute…

He’s still fuzzily trying to account for Eren’s sudden extra limb, squinting myopically at the washed out blur in his lap (no glasses, no depth perception and the flickering light of the muted TV isn’t helping much.) Jean manages to squirm an arm free and locate his glasses (on his head, naturally,) and pull them down over his eyes so he can interrogate this strange three-armed alien using him as a combination pillow and mattress, and—

\--and Marco’s watching him carefully, over his shoulder, still curled up on the floor using his knees as a pillow.  He smiles at Jean in the flickery light, and doesn’t let go of the hand draped over his shoulder, although his grip loosens enough that Jean can pull away if he wants. 

“Okay?” he whispers, tilting his head, and Jean drags a hand down his face and nods.

“Was I talking again?”

“For awhile,” Marco says quietly.   “Then Eren knocked you over like that and belly-flopped on you like that, and you shut up.” He laughs into his unoccupied hand.  “I don’t think _either_ of you woke up for it.”

Jean chuckles too, and the movement of his chest makes Eren grumble, eyes squeezing fitfully in his sleep.  Jean sighs, watching the blue-white light shift across the soft contours of his face, and rubs his thumb over the deep notch-shaped scar in the bridge of Eren’s nose.  So many scars, and all Jean’s ever done is give him more…

Eren’s eyes flutter, and he tilts his head enough to press a sleepy kiss against Jean’s palm.  He doesn’t sit up, but he rolls onto his side a little, enough to pull his hands in  and sketch out a sleepy sentence with his fingers against Jean’s chest.

_It would’ve been my throat if you hadn’t been there._

And then, as far as Jean can tell, he’s asleep again.  He shoves his glasses back into his hair and pinches the bridge of his nose, and feels Marco gently squeeze his hand.

“Go back to sleep,” Marco whispers.  “You need it.  It’ll be okay.”

 _“It’ll be okay,” Eren says, his voice still choked with tears, and he still hasn’t let go of Jean’s hand.  “I_ promise _it’ll be okay.  I promise.”_

Jean shifts gently under Eren so he’s propped up a little more against the arm of the couch, then slips his hand out of Marco’s grasp and holds out his arm to him.  He watches Marco’s eyes go wide, and then something lights up in their depths, something more _alive_ than whatever was there before.  He leans back into Jean’s hold, resting his head on his shoulder, and Jean drapes his arm over his chest and finds his hand again.  _I looked like you once, didn’t I?_ he thinks, the curls of Marco’s soft, dark hair tickling the underside of his jaw as he lets his other arm settle over the curve of Eren’s back.  _Lost and empty and waiting for something that was never gonna come back from the dead._

“It’ll be okay,” he whispers in Marco’s ear, he doesn’t know why he’s saying it and neither does Marco, but both of them know it’s what needs to be said. “I promise it’ll be okay.

“I promise.”


	3. Stealin' Honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: Chapter 1 plus about 5 months, after The Team's first big job with Marco  
> In this chapter: a bunch of interpersonal relationship stuff, deep meaningful IT'S PORN OKAY IT'S SO MUCH PORN I had a massive fever and my fever was too high for me to REALIZE I had a fever so I decided a bloody mary was a good idea, which it is NOT when you have a fever and then I wrote 4000 words of gay porn at 2 am with a test the next day I have no excuse for this.
> 
> Editing was entertaining though. I spelled Jean's last name 4 different ways.
> 
> Chapter title comes from this rad song, although I don't know if I'd reccommend Glitch Mob as a soundtrack for reading smut, neccessarily
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VkvOLB7Yzhs

“No, seriously, holy _shit_ Marco that was _insane,_ six different people in ten minutes—“

“I mean, Jean was modulating my voice…”

“How do you keep that many _backstories_ straight I’d’ve lost my _mind!”_

 _“_ I couldn’t’ve kept it up very long! If you hadn’t climbed the church so _fast—“_

Jean moans softly, tugging his hat down over his ears and trying to block out the excessively happy argument winding its way towards him through the big hotel suite.  Their voices are making his head throb, and the river of caffeine that has gradually replaced his blood over the last 48 hours isn’t helping much.

They weren’t wrong, though.  It’s been about six months since Marco moved in, and all they’ve had is a few trial runs, little shit to feel out the new dynamic and keep their skills sharp. This job, their first _major_ job with Marco in the mix, had felt _charmed,_ from the minute they arrived on site to learn that the hotel had fucked up their reservations...and thus had no choice but to place them in the top-floor VIP penthouse for the cost of two normal rooms.  Eren had already dubbed it the ‘Marco effect,’ and Jean was hard pressed to come up with reasons to disagree. 

He winces again as the door bursts open and a tangle of adrenaline-buzzed dark-skinned (ridiculously hot God dammit) boy tumbles into the master bedroom Jean had commandeered for his sprawling mess of computer equipment. 

“ _Con-_ gratulations,” Eren declares, fishing in his pocket with the hand that wasn’t slung over Marco’s shoulders and pulling out a familiar black flash drive, which he flickes at Jean.  “Proof of one local arch-bishop embezzling funds from a church charity, _in_ the bag.  That’ll keep Levi happy for a day or two.”

Jean snorts, fielding the valuable drive so he can back it up in a couple dozen locations before he breaks down his set-up.  “Didn’t you get his text? Erwin gets back into the country tomorrow.  We aren’t gonna hear from him for at _least_ a week.”  He glares at Eren over the smudged frames of his glasses.  “And I thought we’d learned our lesson about keeping valuable flash drives in hip pockets.”

Marco at least has the good grace to look sheepish while Eren shrugs him off, still half-draped over Marco’s shoulders…he’s not normally big on physical affection, but post-job adrenaline tends to override his usual intensity and turn him into a giant exuberant puppy. 

Marco laughs, ruffling Eren’s hair and running his fingers idly through the tangled strands, casually as fiddling with a pen.  “You were _brilliant_ Jean,” he says, voice a little scratchy from overuse.  He’d been on the phone almost the entire night, playing a different character every few minutes to allow Jean and Eren to bullshit their way through an endless web of bureaucratic security…Levi was right, Jean thinks… Eren can turn on the crocodile tears and bullshit his way out of a tight spot when he needs to, but he’s no character actor.  They _need_ Marco.  Eren and Jean on their own never could have pulled this scam off. 

The backup finished, and Jean uncurls and stretches his spine in a nauseating series of crackles before he stands…realizing too late that his left foot’s _entirely_ numb.  It slips out from under him the second he puts any weight on it, and Jean loses his balance and falls face-first into Marco’s turquoise sweater-vest. 

“ _Woah!”_ Marco lets go of Eren to grab Jean by the shoulders, setting him back on his feet. “Y’okay there?”

“You didn’t move all night, did you?” Eren chuckles, and Jean glares at him, extremely aware of Marco’s very long, very warm fingers curled around his arms, holding him close enough that his warm breath ruffles his bangs. 

“ _We_ need to celebrate,” Marco announces as Jean drops back to the edge of the bed, trying to shake some life back into his feet.  “I shall investigate our booze options.”

“I mean, there’s room service…”                                   

“Nah.” He pulls off his bobble-hat, leaving his hair standing out around his head in a mess of static, and heads for the door.  “Place like this’ll have the _good_ stuff if you ask the right person.  And if you ask the right person _right…”_ he unbuttons the top few buttons of his shirt and flexes his shoulders so it falls open just enough for the edges of the tattoos on his right shoulder to be visible.  Then he sticks his tongue out at Jean, and disappears into the hallway, letting the door close behind him with a snap.

Eren flops down on the bed next to Jean, and they exchange a long, vaguely baffled stare. Jean slides his fingers under the frames of his glasses to rub at his eyes.

“Is he _real?”_

Eren laughs, catching Jean’s wrist and tugging his hands away from his face.  “C’mon, relax a little— _oh no…”_ Jean’s eyebrows snap together, and he pulls Eren’s hand off his wrist and flips it over.  “ _Oh_ no, I know that face, you don’t—“

“You didn’t wear gloves,” Jean says flatly.  He drops Eren’s hands (and the dirty wraps around his palms that were rapidly turning red with fresh blood) and rummages for the Eren-optimized first aid kit that traveles with his equipment.  “You climbed the _outside_ of a _cathedral,_ and you didn’t wear gloves.”

Eren shrugs, avoiding his gaze.  “It’s easier…”

“ _Fuck_ easier Eren, your hands look like raw meat.” Jean pushes his glasses up into his hair to see better and starts picking apart the wrappings, wincing as threads catch in the raw, half-formed scabs.  Eren sighs and leans back on his elbows, relinquishing his protests.

“He’s right, y’know,” he says softly, as Jean methodically cleans and re-wraps his shredded hands, one bloodied finger at a time.  Eren slides a little closer, unfolding his legs so they lie across Jean’s lap.  “You _were_ amazing tonight.  You should enjoy it.” Jean just grunts at him, but he shifts so his arms lay over them, pulling Eren’s knees a little closer to his chest. 

He’s _never seen you get an abscess in your arm from a paper cut you never noticed,_ Jean thinks, picking shards of stone out of Eren’s palm.  _Or run halfway across a city on a foot you didn’t know was broken…or get too far gone and keep hitting someone ‘til the bones in your fingers showed…_ he can feel Eren’s worried eyes on his face as he re-wraps his right hand and picks up his left. 

“Listen,” Jean says eventually, keeping his eyes fixed on Eren’s hand in his lap.  “I can tell you like Marco a lot, and it’s pretty obvious he’s _all about_ you, so…so if you wanna go for it, go for it.  I’ll get out of your way.”

Eren stares at him in silence for a minute, and then makes an exasperated noise somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.  “Is _that_ what’s got you all edgy?”  He raises his unoccupied hand to flick Jean in the nose, and catces his eyes when Jean’s head snaps up to glare at him.  “You think I’m gonna ditch you for Marco.”

Jean instantly looks away again, trying to pretend he’s not pouting.  “Only in the dumb butthurt entirely irrational sense…” he mumbles.  “But if you wanna…” he trails off, and Eren laughs. 

“I thought Marco was into _you,”_ he says, turning his bandaged hands over and flexing his fingers experimentally.  “I was gonna tell you kinda the same thing…he asked me if…if you an’ I were a thing—“

“Really? He asked me that too, and I thought—“

“Yeah, I thought he wanted to know if you were available…”

“I thought he was asking about _you…”_

They stare at each other in complete shock, Eren very slowly blushing clear down to his neck.  “You don’t think…”

“ _Seriously, is he real?”_

The suite’s front door clatters, making them both jump.  Jean lets out an undignified squealing noise as Eren’s knee hits the underside of his jaw, clacking his teeth together unpleasantly.

“I have acquired cham…pagne…the hell did I miss?”

Jean and Eren have been living together, in one capacity or another, for something like twelve years, and sleeping together (in one capacity or another) for at least six of those…the result of which was that whenever they’re the only two people in a given room, they tend to forget about things like personal space and Marco’s still adjusting to walking into rooms to find them casually tangled up in each other like a couple of dropped slinkies.

And now they’re both beet red and staring up at him like puppies caught fighting over a shoe.  Jean swallows heavily, and he and Eren exchange a panicked, disbelieving glance.

“W-we were uh…we were talkin’…and…uhm…” he stutters.

 Eren’s arm tightens around his shoulder, fingers digging into his collarbones and before Jean can react he sucks in a huge breath and blurts “ _Do you wanna have a threesome?”_

Jean gasps, tries to gabble out an apology, or an explanation, or _anything_ other than _that,_ and manages to make a sound halfway between the air being let out of a balloon and a cat being stepped on.

“ _What?_ ” Eren snaps, already blushing dark.  “It would’ve taken you eighty _years_ to actually ask him—“ Jean just shoves his arm off and tips over sideways, strangled squeaking noises still emitting from his mouth.  Marco laughs, scraping a hand through his hair.

“Sure.”

“ _Huh?”_

_“What?!”_

Marco smiles broadly at the two of them, blushing just as dark under his freckles.  “It’s not exactly how I imagined the subject would arise, but…yes.  Yes, I’d love to.”  He set down the bottle of champagne on top of the TV and takes in their shocked faces, chuckling.  “You didn’t plan this far, did you?”

Jean realizes his mouth is still open, but any sounds he’s making have long since transcended the human range of hearing.

Marco crosses the room and kneels by the edge of the bed, his hand sliding warm up Jean’s thigh, nudging him to come out of his ball and sit up again.  “Jean.  Hey.  You on board with this?” His fingers curl warm and reassuring around Jean’s hip. Jean sucks in a shaky breath and makes himself look down into Marco’s big, steady eyes and it’s clear Marco’s not going to move another inch until Jean says okay.  He just nods, not trusting his voice, and Marco’s smile is both instantaneous and dazzling. 

He reaches out and loops an arm around both of their necks (which is just as well, since Eren’s arm around Jean’s shoulders was moving into chokehold territory), tugging both of them down into a warm hug, their foreheads pressed together. 

“ _God,_ you two,” Marco whispers, almost reverentially. His hand slides warm and slow down the length of Jean’s back and he’s arching into it before he’s had a chance to think, nervous rapid breaths catching in a faint hum low in his throat.  Eren’s arm wound around his waist at some point and Jean’s vaguely relieved to feel him shaking. 

“S-s-so…” he stutters, around another hum as Marco’s hand trails back over his hip, casual and exploratory.  “How do you wanna do this?”

Marco grins up at him, pink tip of his tongue poking out between white teeth, and leans up to brush his lips quick against Jean’s, and then Eren’s.  “Didn’t Levi tell you? I’m ambidextrous.”  And that’s the last coherent thought to register in Jean’s mind for a _while._

He’s seen Marco write left-handed, unlock doors and cut food and pick up remotes, all left-handed, but he sure doesn’t struggle to undo Jean’s (admittedly too-tight) pants with his right hand…and he’s not any slower with his left, judging by the way Eren whines between his teeth and presses his forehead against Jean’s temple, sweat already beading on his skin.  “M-marco, _god…”_

Marco hums, sounding _ridiculously_ pleased with himself, and Jean fails to stifle another squeaky noise as he gently frees him from his pants.  “ _Mmm…_ uncut, huh?”

“ _Hnf.”_

Being touched by someone else is…weird.  _Pleasant_ weird, borderline-terrifying head-spinning exciting weird but weird none the less.  Especially with Eren right _there,_ pressed up against his side, one hand buried in the sheets behind him somewhere and the other fisted in the hem of Jean’s shirt, breathing erratic in Jean’s ear as Marco sizes them both up with a vaguely calculating expression.  Jean tips his head to the side, mouthing mindlessly along Eren’s jawline and the familiarity of it grounds him a little as Marco’s fingers gently run over the head of his cock, slipping a little in the rapidly spreading wetness.  Eren’s looking over his shoulder, a slow, heavy shiver ripping up his spine as Marco feels them both out, and he snuggles a little closer to Jean, hands getting grabby on his waist.

“F-fine with me,” Eren murmurs, apparently to Marco, and before Jean can line up enough brain cells to ask about it, that bright pink tongue that’s been haunting some very weird dreams for the last week is curling warm and wet around the head of his dick, drawing him into Marco’s mouth and Eren’s arm around his waist is about the only thing that keeps Jean from just collapsing into a heap of very happy jello.

Marco’s hands run up his thighs, tugging his pants and his boxers further down, his soothing touch asking if it’s okay and Jean responds with a strangled moan of approval, letting his hips twitch up against Marco’s full, slick lips.  Eren groans a curse into Jean’s arched neck and pulls his head around, kissing him with surprising tenderness, given the situation.  Jean leans into him, tracing his tongue over the scar that bisects Eren’s lower lip, unusually sharp teeth catching and pulling a little as he tilts his head to let him in.

He feels Marco slide off with a faint _pop_ he barely hears over the blood pounding in his ears, pulling Eren closer to lick and kiss over the length of his arousal before turning back to Jean again, swallowing him almost down to the base, Eren’s tongue in his mouth more hands than he can keep track of…

It only takes a few minutes before Jean’s curling in on himself, breaking away from Eren and dropping a shaky hand into Marco’s hair, pushing him away maybe a little harder than he should’ve, leaving a streak of combined saliva and precome glistening on his cheek.

“ _M-marco, stop, stopstopstop…_ s-sorry,” he stutters, chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath.  “Sorry, you’re fine, it’s just…holy _shit_ that’s intense…”

“You’re making me look bad,” Eren murmurs, nuzzling his nose up into the sensitive spot behind Jean’s ear. (Just _that_ is enough to make him jump and shiver and he hasn’t even gotten close to coming yet, _Christ…)_ “I thought I was _improving_ your stamina.”

“Yeah, ‘first one to come loses,’ eh?” Marco says with a grin, dragging the tip of a finger through the glistening smear across his cheek.

“You heard about that, huh?” Jean wipes his sweaty bangs out of his eyes long enough to glare sideways at Eren.”

“You spend five hours sitting in a Dodge Neon, subjects come up.” Eren mouths messily along his neck, totally unapologetic. “You’re still a pansy.”

“Oh _you_ try the double ended thing—“’

“Bring it onnn _nnnnohjesusfuckmeMarco!”_

_“See?”_

Marco gives a sort of self-satisfied chuckle, which is a pretty good trick when you’re mid-blowjob, running the tips of his fingers teasingly under Eren’s fraying T-shirt and up his sides.  Jean sees the fraction-of-a-second hesitation only because he’s expecting it: Marco’s rhythm stutters and his eyebrows furrow as he feels the wide, ropey scars that crisscross Eren’s ribcage.  Jean shakes his head vigorously when Marco’s eyes flick up, disentangling one hand from Eren’s hair and jerking his thumb across his neck in a throat-slitting motion: _don’t go there._ Marco frowns for a second before his eyes soften, and his hands move over Eren’s battered body with a tenderness that wasn’t there before.

Eren’s blissfully unaware of the brief, silent, exchange, eyes squeezed shut and face half-buried in Jean’s shoulder.  Jean tucks his legs up and kid of curls around him, wrapping his arms around his chest and kissing the exposed half of his face as Marco thoroughly works him over.  _No gag reflex,_ Jean realizes, watching his throat flex as he swallows around Eren’s dick and Eren shivers nicely against his chest.  _God save me._

Feeling Eren gasping and squirming with pleasure isn’t exactly a new experience, but Jean’s used to being the one _causing_ it, not just an observer holding him and watching his breaths get faster and faster and needy and ragged, his thighs and the tight muscles of his stomach twitching in response to whatever Marco’s doing with his lips and his tongue and the hand Jean can’t see from his angle. It’s…nice, seeing Eren this relaxed and happy, just watching him squirm with pleasure (especially since every time his hips move it kinda grinds him back into Jean’s lap and the friction is not going unappreciated.)  It’s _really_ nice, at least until Jean decides he’s bored just watching and Eren isn’t getting tormented _nearly_ enough.

He nudges Marco’s shoulder with a toe and shifts Eren against his chest until he’s got an arm free to trail his fingers down his side.  Eren’s breath hitches and his eyes fly open as the calloused tips of Jean’s long, narrow fingers drift over the point of his hipbone.  He presses his fingers into the soft dip just inside his hip, moving them in tight, fast circles over the sensitive spot (where Eren happens to be _wildly_ ticklish outside this particular context) and Marco raises his eyebrows, a wicked spark in his eyes as Eren’s whole body spasms at the touch and he twists his head to sink his teeth into Jean’s neck above the red leather collar of his jacket. 

“ _You j-just…_ had… _to show him…that…”_ he stutters out, breaking off between words to bite at the rapidly reddening mark his sharp teeth leave on Jean’s pale skin.

“Thank me later,” Jean says dreamily, tangling his fingers in Eren’s hair and peeling him off so he can press his lips into the soft spot under his jaw, kissing around the edges of some of the older scars on Eren’s chin.  Eren lets out a low, rumbling moan Jean _feels_ in his chest almost more than he hears it, propping himself up on one hand so he can reach back and run the other over the contours of Jean’s face, tracing his fintertips over his lips—

“’Ey,” Marco says, pulling off Eren with a slick pop.  “You’re hogging all the Jean.”

“You’re not missing much,” Eren says, with his best slow, sexy wolf smile, the one that after eight years still makes Jean lightheaded, even when Eren’s got lines from the stitching on Jean’s jacket imprinted across his face.

“Be _nice.”_ Marco whacks Eren lightly on the knee.  Jean doesn’t bother to stop trailing his lips along Eren’s neck.  He knows Eren too well to take any of his snarking to heart, but Marco’s watching the two of them like they’re a puzzle he’s determined to solve. 

“You’re both such _posers,”_ he says with a giggle, sitting back on his heels.  “You talk so sweet about each other when you’re alone with me.”

“Sweet, huh,” Jean mumbles, raising his eyebrows at Eren.  “Doesn’t sound like you.”

“Doesn’t sound like _you_ either.”

“Nah.  I think it’s _you,_ Marco.  You’re so sweet it’s contagious.” 

Marco raises his eyebrows and scrapes a hand through his hair, static leaving it standing up at all angles.  “Hold that thought,” he says, and crosses the room to dive into the duffle bag he’d dropped in a corner when they first arrived. 

Eren takes advantage of the lull to scrabble out of his shirt, and it hasn’t hit the floor before he turns on Jean, pushing him back into the feather comforter, kissing him hard and hungry as he shoves his jacket down his arms.   “You gotta stop wearing so many layers.”

“Fuck you, it’s cold in here.”

“It is _not,_ your skinny ass just has no insulation—“ Jean leans up to shut him up, nipping at his lips, and Eren responds with a hum, fucking his tongue into Jean’s mouth. He only lets Jean sit up long enough to pull his arms free and strip his tshirt off over his head before he’s pressing back into him, twisting and grinding into his lap ‘til Jean’s whining into his kisses, knuckles washed out white where he’s squeezing Eren’s shoulders.

“Hey,” Eren says suddenly, twisting to look over his shoulder and jarring Jean back to reality.  “How ‘come _you’re_ still fully clothed?”

 

“Just thinkin’…” Marco says, perching on the edge of the big penthouse bed with a frankly _evil_ grin on his face.  They both sit up a little, and Jean slides up behind Eren and wraps his arms around his waist again.  He _liked_ what they’d been doing.’

“You came prepared,” he mumbles, raising his eyebrows at the strip of condoms and the little plastic tube in Marco’s hand.  Marco shrugs helplessly, looking a little sheepish.

“Never got around to unpacking ‘em, to tell the truth.  Why, you complaining?”

“ _Fuck_ no.”

 “What’s your usual benchmark for your endurance competition thing?” Marco asks, looking thoughtful.  “Ten minutes?”

“Fifteen.”

“Tell ya what then.” Marco slides off the bed and back onto his knees, propping his arms on Eren’s legs.  “You last _five_ minutes, Eren, and I’ll take my shirt off.”

**

“I think you broke him,” Jean says, significantly less than five minutes later, prodding Eren’s cheek experimentally.  He gets no response, other than the panting and the brainless little humming noises Eren’s been making for the last minute or so. 

Marco sits up and props his elbows on Eren’s knees, wiping his mouth as he surveys the twitching wreckage lying on Jean’s chest. “Definitely some of my better work,” he agrees sagely, voice a little scratchier than before.

“He wasn’t kidding, y’know.” Jean gives Eren another ginger poke, as though afraid he’s going to melt into goo.  He sounds slightly terrified. “He’s normally got _stupid_ amounts of stamina.”

“Y’don’t say.” Marco grins and flops onto the bed next to Jean, draping himself over his shoulders.  “What’s his recharge time like?”

“After _that?”_ Jean considers Eren’s heaving chest and glassy, half-open eyes.  “I think we’re gonna need jumper cables…”

“’m _fine,”_ Eren mutters, swatting Jean’s hand off his chest.  He peels himself out of Jean’s sweaty embrace and sprawls across the comforter on his back, staring blankly at the ceiling with pupils that haven’t contracted back to their normal size yet.  “Jesus _fuck,_ Marco.”

Marco’s grin gets a few molars wider, and then he catches the look Jean’s giving him and laughs.  “What’s that face for?”

“Wh-what face?” Jean mumbles, trying to fight the blush he can feel burning its way up the back of his neck. 

Marco chuckles and squeezes Jean around the shoulders, nuzzling his nose into his temple, and Jean tenses up out of reflex before he makes himself relax.  This is _Marco,_ he’s safe with Marco and Eren and he’s got no reason to be nervous.  “You look like you’re bracing for a bomb or something to go off.”

Jean casts another glance at Eren, who’s still lying limply on his back, albeit with a giant, fucked-out grin on his face.  “He looks pretty ‘sploded to me…” 

Marco laughs in his ear, warm and genuine, like he _actually thinks_ Jean’s sarcastic ass is funny.  “C’mere,” he says, slides two fingers, warm and still a little slick, under Jean’s chin to tilt his head up and kiss him gently. 

It’s an interesting contrast, what with Marco still being fully clothed while Jean’s naked and sweaty, Marco’s black flannel shirt sticking to his flushed skin as his other arm winds around Jean’s waist to pull him closer.  He’s _incredibly_ gentle, clearly sensing Jean’s nerves at being touched by someone new and responding to it.  He doesn’t push, and the longer it lasts the more Jean feels his nervousness slipping away, driven out of his mind by the warm, tingling desire coiling up low in his belly.

His fingers find their way to the buttons at Marco’s neck and he hums approvingly, one hand trailing up Jean’s pack to curl protectively around the back of his head, tongue brushing lightly over his lips as Jean works the buttons out of their holes, one by one ‘til he can push the soft fabric out of the way and run his hands down Marco’s muscular chest.

Eren swears under his breath when Jean fumbles Marco’s shirt off his shoulders.  He’s propped himself up on one elbow, glassy eyes turning hot again, as Jean leans back and pushes his glasses back up his nose to fully appreciate the sight. 

Jean has five languages at his disposal and none of them are helping him out much.  “ _Wow,”_ is what he finally settles on, and if the word is painfully inadequate hopefully the strained tone in his voice and the tremor in his fingertips gets the message across.  Jean reaches out and traces his fingers over the intricate black tattoos that cover Marco’s entire right arm, following the dips and contours of his muscles up over his shoulder and across his chest.  Jean’s only seen the edges before, around the neckline of his shirt and his wrist, and his vague imaginings didn’t come _close_ to reality.  (He’s also got enough presence of mind to be grateful that his left foot is still tucked up under his body.  Seeing Marco’s intricate, beautiful tribal heritage spelled out across his glistening skin does not make him eager to discuss the pokeball on his ankle.)

He runs his hands up Marco’s arms and loops them around his neck, leaning in to kiss him again and a little thrill shoots down his spine at the way Marco’s breath hitches when their bare chests press together. 

“ _Mmm,_ Jean,” he hums, whispering his name against Jean’s lips and his stomach flips again.  “ _God_ you’re gorgeous… _look_ at you…”

And then he has to go and ruin a perfect moment by bracing both hands on Jean’s shoulders and pushing him down, so that Marco’s leaning over him with his hands on either side of his head, pinning him down with _nowayout—_

Marco lets him go and sits back the second Jean goes stiff under him, and Jean’s half embarrassed half relieved to see Eren already sitting forward, ready to push Marco off him if he hadn’t gotten the message. 

“S-sorry,” he mumbles, twisting his head to the side to avoid Marco’s gaze, well aware of how damn _hypocritical_ he’s being…Marco just saw him react with gusto to Eren flattening him to the mattress, after all.  “I-I…I don’t like bein’ pinned down, n-not by—I—“

“It’s okay, I get it,” Marco says, and to Jean’s shock he’s smiling as he reaches out to catch Jean’s hands.  “I’m new, I get it.  It’s _fine._ Jean, sweetheart, this is about making _you_ happy.”  He stretches out next to Jean on his side, holding out his arms, and Jean recognizes the compromise he’s being offered and snuggles into his chest, letting Marco pull him tight to his body without leaving him feeling trapped.  Eren sighs softly somewhere behind him, his perpetually too-long nails scratching through Jean’s hair. 

“Tell me something,” Marco says, his voice a comforting rumble against Jean’s chest.  “How many bullshit characters did you have pre-planned for the job tonight?  That we _didn’t_ use.”

Jean has to stop and think, stopping just short of abandoning mental math in his fuzzy brain to count on his fingers.  “Uh…that we didn’t use? Four, I think.  Plus Eren’s got a couple fallback voices and…five…no six voicemails with prerecordings if we needed it.”

Marco chuckles, nudging his nose against Jean’s.  “You really _are_ incredible, you know that , right?”

“Nah.”

“You _are,”_ Marco and Eren chorus.  Eren laughs, and Jean blushes, burrowing into Marco’s shoulder as his hands run soothingly up the length of his spine. 

“You thought me keepin’ six characters straight was impressive?” Marco says to Eren, over the top of his head.  “Jean was feeding me every fuckin’ detail.  If I tried to do that improv we’d’ve sunk like the Titanic.  He was ready for _everything.”_

“He knew which wall of the church I should try to go up,” Eren chimes in.  “Did he tell you that?  On the off-chance that for _some_ goddamn reason we had to go up the outside, he planned a route.  That took into account the weather and the fact that two of the streetlights were out.”

“Shuddup with the _embarrassing,”_ Jean moans into Marco’s shoulder. 

“I’m tryin’ to _thank_ you, bastard,” Marco laughs.  Jean mumbles unintelligibly, and Marco puts his hands on his shoulders and pushes him back gently, looking down into his eyes.  “ _Really,_ Jean.  Thank you.  It’s…” he closes his eyes and sighs, and a shadow of deep exhaustion flits across his face, just for a second.  “It’s been a _long_ time since I’ve felt like someone’s got my back.”

 _Words_ have never been a strong suit of Jean’s – even back when his life followed a pattern that might have been considered _normal,_ he harbored a deep resentment towards people who had the magic ability of “knowing what to say.”  Jean doesn’t know what to say when a cute waitress asks how his meal’s tasting, let alone when he’s naked in a fancy hotel room with a declaration of trust and gratitude and affection and a sexy-as-fuck New Zealand accent ringing in his ears.  So he just nuzzles his nose into the v of black hair in the center of Marco’s chest and mumbles something approaching “ _yrwelcome”_ into his warm skin, and hopes to hell Marco somehow _gets_ it. 

Marco chuckles softly, his long arms wrapping around Jean’s waist, tight but not restrictive, and Jean sighs and relaxes, not sure anymore if it’s Marco or Eren playing with his hair and not really caring. 

“Hey,” Marco says into his ear, lips brushing Jean’s cheek, and there’s the faint plastic _pop_ of a lid somewhere behind him.  “Let me…let me make you feel good?”

Jean swallows hard and props himself up on his elbows so he can get a better look at Marco’s face.  Marco just peers up at him, calm and patient, while Jean tries to remember how his vocal cords work. 

“Wh-wh-what did you have in mind?” he squeaks out eventually, as Marco runs his hands soothingly up and down his arms. 

Marco hums thoughtfully, although it sounds like there’s the beginnings of a moan under the sound.  “’s probably easier to show you than describe,” he muses, and leans up to peck Jean on the nose (which makes his abs flex against Jean’s stomach in a _very_ interesting way and it’s really starting to sink in now just how utterly _doomed_ he is.)  “Nothin’ happens ‘til you say okay.”

Jean gives what he hopes like hell is a decisive nod, and Marco smiles like Jean’s a birthday cake and he gets to blow out the candles. 

He slides his hands back to Jean’s waist and turns him over, careful not to pull him or pin him, he’s _so_ damn gentle but that scarcely hides the fact that Marco moves Jean like he barely weighs a thing, and the realization is a little terrifying but mostly hot as hell. 

Marco rolls onto his side and guides Jean down with him, his back pressed to Marco’s chest and his head nestled in the crook of Marco’s shoulder.  “ _That,”_ Marco murmurs in his ear, “is one _hell_ of a view, Jean.” 

Jean instantly blushes to the tips of his ears, chewing on his lip as Marco’s hands run slow and heavy down his body.  They curl around Jean’s bony hipbones and Marco rolls his still-clothed hips forward into Jean’s ass, pulling him back into the movement and Eren swears breathlessly. Jean whines and arches against his grip, twisting to plant his face in the dip of Marco’s neck. 

“What do you think?” Marco asks, going still and loosening his grip.  “This okay?”

Jean nods vigorously, tugging off his glasses and tossing them what he _hopes_ is a safe distance away.  “Just…uh…I haven’t actually…in awhile…so just _go slow okay?”_ he blurts, and Marco smiles and nods, kissing him gently. 

“Sure.  Do you usually top? ‘Cause I don’t mind—“

“We…uh…” Jean and Eren exchange a brief, slightly embarrassed glance.  “Don’t usually go this far, actually.”

“You’re sure you want to?”

“ _Fuck_ yeah,” Jean gasps, bucking out of Marco’s hold and flipping himself over, pushing Marco onto his back to kiss him _hard_ and messy.  Marco lets out a surprised laugh that turns into a hungry groan against Jean’s lips.

“We’re not leaving you out, are we?” Marco asks Eren when Jean finally lets up on his mouth, and Jean’s more than a little pleased to hear the distinct tremor of desire.

“I am _more_ than enjoying this,” Eren says dreamily, leaning his chin on his palm, eyes a little unfocused. 

“ _Perv,”_ Jean mutters.

“Take the compliment, Kirchstein.”

Marco rolls his eyes at both of them, his hips twitching mindlessly under Jean’s, and feels around the massive expanse of white bedspread until he comes up with the abandoned lube. 

“’Ey.” He wriggles an arm free and tosses it at Eren.  “Do the honors?”

Jean’s already formulating a response to the snark that’s bound to be forthcoming, but Eren just catches the little tube with a soft smile. 

“’Slong as I can do this first,” he says, slides his fingers under Jean’s chin and tugs his head around to kiss him while he’s still more-or-less straddling Marco.  Marco moans in Jean’s ear, and Jean can freakin’ _feel_ his dick twitching with interest through the catch of his black jeans.

The kiss goes on ‘til Jean gets lost in it, ‘til Marco hums and gently tugs his arm, and Jean leans out of the way to let Eren kiss him too. 

He’s forced to mentally withdraw his earlier insult after watching them kiss lazily for a few minutes: he can _definitely_ see why Eren was okay with just watching as Marco’s lips part on a soft, moaned sigh and he curls his tongue into Eren’s mouth, tracing gentle fingertips over the scar under his eye.  Jean leaves them to it, wriggling further down Marco’s long, taut body to deal with his pants before his dick breaks his damn zipper. 

He kisses his leisurely way down the narrow happy trail that runs the length of Marco’s stomach, tracing his tongue over the soft contours of his abs, idly grinding against Marco’s thigh to ease the rising ache.  Marco gasps, muscles twitching against his lips and one of his hands finds its way into Jean’s hair, not pushing or pulling but gently encouraging as Jean works his zipper loose and jerks down his tight-fitting jeans. 

Marco’s cock slips out and bounces up against his stomach, and he disentangles himself from Eren and sits up on his elbows, smirking faintly as Jean swallows heavily.  He’s…big.  Pretty impressively big.  And also… _pretty,_ which might be a weird adjective to apply to a dick, but what the hey.  Jean doesn’t really have that much experience with dicks that aren’t on his computer screen, beyond the general blowjob and handjob groove he and Eren have comfortably inhabited since late adolescence (once they’d recovered from the shellshock after Levi’s rendition of The Talk.)  But Marco’s is…yeah, okay, _pretty,_ Jean decides in a sort of stubborn, fuzzy way, tracing his fingers up the tight curve and enjoying Marco’s pleasant shiver at his touch. 

Marco’s apparently hit some kind of breaking point, because he catches Jean’s hands and hauls him back up into kissing range, inelegantly flailing his pants the rest of the way off and Jean enjoys a faint sting of pride that they’ve managed to break down Marco’s apparently iron-clad composure. 

Marco’s hands on him are rougher, more insistent, and he threads his fingers through Jean’s sweat-damp hair and kisses him _hard,_ little gasps of Jean’s name coloring the air between their lips.  Eren ruffles Jean’s hair around Marco’s fingers and slides down the bed, adding his legs to the tangle and a second later his familiar, callous-rough palms run down Jean’s spine and over the swell of his ass, squeezing and tugging him a little further up onto his knees.  He leans up and kisses the arch of Jean’s back, right at the base of his spine, and then his warm lips move lower and Jean whines through clenched teeth and tears away from Marco’s lips, dipping his head and just _shaking_ with the sensation.  Eren chuckles behind him, smoothing his hands down Jean’s thighs as they start to shake and he works his tongue over him in slowly tightening circles. 

Jean manages to peel his eyes open when Marco touches his face, running his knuckles over the contours of his cheekbones.  He watches the warm, soft light behind Marco’s big eyes changing, becoming something hotter and darker and harder-edged and Jean slams his eyes shut again, fighting the heavy wave of  too-much too-soon arousal running down his spine.  Marco curses under him, cupping his long fingers around Jean’s face and pulling him down to kiss him, desperate and messy and mostly missing his mouth as Eren begins to work the tip of his tongue inside him, slicking up two fingers as he does. 

“You look _so_ good like this,” he rasps, thumbs tracing over Jean’s features, his cheekbones and his eyelids and his swollen, bitten lips, following the way his expression pulls and changes as Eren works the first finger in beside his tongue, curling it experimentally.  “ _So good, Jean,”_ Marco presses their foreheads together, squeezing his eyes shut, voice rough as he grits out “ _I wanna fuck you so bad…”_

 _“F-fuck Marco…E-eren, oh God…”_ Jean’s already trembling with overstimulation, twitching back against Eren’s curling fingers and the quick, fluttering, fucking _mind-blowing_ flicks of his tongue, dripping precome onto Marco’s flexing stomach as he fights the urge to slide off his knees and just _grind_ down into his lap.  Marco follows him up as his spine curves and his head falls back, running his lips up the tight arch of his throat, his kisses getting rougher and bitey as he gets and more desperate. 

Marco twists to the side and sits up as much as he’s able, curling an arm almost protectively around Jean’s waist and dragging one hand slow and heavy down his side.  He trails and index finger through the saliva and lube pooling around his entrance, and Jean curses deliriously, biting at the ridges of his collarbones as he slips it smoothly in alongside two of Eren’s.  Jean keens, squeezing his eyes shut and the slight, stinging stretch, and Eren pulls back and leans in to kiss along his spine, rubbing his back until the ache recedes. 

“Think you’re ready?” Marco asks him softly, and it actually takes Jean’s fuzzy brain a minute to recall the _plan,_ the position he’d okayed earlier that this was all in service of. 

“As I’ll ever be,” Jean mumbles, surprised at how steady it comes out, and Marco smiles and kisses him softly as Eren hands him the long-forgotten strip of condoms. 

Jean sighs contentedly and lets Marco roll them, resettling with his back to Marco’s broad chest, grateful for the change in pace.  Eren crawls over to kiss him, sweet and quick and messy as Marco rolls the condom on and slicks himself up, and then flops over a few feet away, running his hand over his half-hard cock in slow, lazy strokes.

Marco curls a hand under Jean’s knee, guiding his leg up and back, spreading him open.  It’s the kind of exposed, vulnerable position that would usually have Jean diving for the nearest blankets (especially with someone _watching,)_ but he’s too boneless and worked up and needy to care, especially when Marco’s so _gentle,_ so caring and loving and careful, only the tremor in his hands giving away his earlier desperate need.  He works his other arm under Jean’s chest, curling it around him warm and protective, almost cuddling Jean against his chest as he lines up. 

“Take a deep breath,” he murmurs, kissing Jean’s cheeks, his palm rubbing slow, soothing circles over Jean’s heart, and Jean just nods and obeys.

It’s more of a stretch than he was expecting, despite Eren’s thorough warm-up, and Jean hisses through his teeth as Marco whispers in his ear, reminding him to keep breathing.  “Still okay?”

“ _Mmmm.”_

 _“_ C’mon, sweetheart, I need words, are you okay?”

“ _’m okay,”_ Jean says hazily, rolling his head back to press a kiss to Marco’s jaw.  “Keep going.”  The burning ache is still there, but it’s rapidly dissolving into deep, pulsing waves of pleasure.  Jean draws in another slow, deep breath and rolls his hips back, sinking onto Marco’s cock and Marco gasps and presses his forehead into Jean’s neck, nails catching in his skin for a second.

“ _Gods, Jean…”_

 _“Keep going…”_ Jean twists his top leg out of Marco’s grip and loops it around behind Marco’s hips, urging him closer (he may not be muscular like Eren but he’s _flexible,_ dammit, and he doesn’t get too many chances to show it off.) Marco shivers and moans, shaking with the effort of staying still.  His hips settle against Jean’s ass and he wraps his freed arm around Jean’s middle, hugging him tight against his body as Jean shivers and adjusts to the feeling, teeth tearing at his lower lip.  Eren slides closer and runs his fingers through Jean’s hair, knowing nothing relaxes him faster, and Jean hums and reaches out to wrap an arm around his waist and drag him closer, tilting his head into Eren’s hand.

“Ready?” Marco whispers, punctuating the word by dragging his teeth over Jean’s earlobe and he shivers heavily and nods against Marco’s shoulder.

“Mm…go slow, ‘kay?”

“’course.”  Marco pulls back just a little, arms still wrapped tight around his torso, and when he slides back home Jean’s sure he’s melting, heavy, burning warmth rolling through his body and weighing down his limbs and the air on his lips turns into Marco’s name, and Eren’s, tangling together ‘til there’s no difference anymore.

The pace Marco sets is steady and rolling and almost _punishingly_ slow, each thrust a long, measured _grind_ that has Jean arching back against his chest, gasping and humming every time Marco slides home with a deep twist of his hips, a deep slow burn that leaves Jean feeling like a blanket of white noise is slowly overcoming his brain.  Every time he’s about to come back out of the clouds Marco catches his descent and sends him higher, his steady pace not quite enough to send him to the edge but never letting him catch his breath. 

Eren slides his fingers out of Jean’s hair and trails them over his face, tips brushing across his lips and Jean parts them and pulls Eren’s fingers into his mouth for the way it makes him gasp and squirm, hollowing his cheeks as Eren strokes his fingers across his tongue in time to Marco’s tidal thrusts. 

“ _Feel good?”_ Marco asks, and the motions of his body are still steady, still some-fucking-how controlled, but his voice just sounds raspy and _wrecked,_ and Jean sighs his assent, pulling away from Eren’s fingers ‘til he can twist his head and kiss Marco deeply, slick and warm and messy and Marco _finally_ speeds up a little, pulling back further and driving in harder, shaking with need and exertion. 

Eren curses under his breath as he watches them kiss, Jean arched back and held open and draped over Marco’s body, hips twitching up into his fist, and when Marco breaks the kiss to drag his lips across Jean’s shoulder, Jean reaches out and catches his wrist, tugging his hand away and opening his mouth suggestively.

“You sure?” Eren asks, blinking at him in surprise, and Jean just smiles and nods dreamily. 

“Just not too deep,” he mumbles, voice hitching every time Marco presses into him, replaces Eren’s hand with his and traces his fingers over dark, slick skin as Eren edges closer and gently slides the head of his cock over Jean’s tongue.  Jean closes his lips around him obligingly, humming with some kind of contentment and swirling his tongue around the head before he tips his head back and lets Eren thrust shallowly into his mouth. 

He’s getting closer, twitchier, and Marco’s gotta be _dying_ but he won’t break his gentle, grinding pace, even as Jean starts to whine and twist onto his cock, catching at Marco’s hands and trying to guide them down to touch him where his aching, neglected cock lies heavy against his twitching stomach. 

Marco obliges him, _almost,_ fingers curling loosely around the base but not fisting him, not jerking him off the way he wants, the way he _needs,_ desperate desire burning through his limbs.  Marco chuckles against Jean’s neck as he whines at him, twisting and bucking against the restraint of the arm around his waist and Eren’s cock occupying his mouth.  He presses the tips of his fingers against the soft mound just under the base of Jean’s cock, moving them in firm, tight circles against the sensitive skin, adding another stimulation to the long, slow burn that’s driving him higher and higher and not letting him come down. 

By the time Eren’s twitching and cursing and fighting the urge to thrust deeper into his mouth, Jean’s about out of his _mind_ , everything so _close_ and _so good_ and still not quite enough to get him there, and he finally stops twisting and fighting and just gives himself over to whatever Marco’s got planned, trusting him to make it worth it in the end.

He’s so far gone he doesn’t realize Marco’s saying something until he feels the rumble of his voice against his back, and he likewise misses Eren’s reply under the white noise ringing in his ears, except for an enthusiastic “ _Fuck_ yeah!”  Eren pulls away and flops down boneless next to Jean, stretching out beside him and kissing his swollen lips.  Jean reaches for him thoughtlessly, falling into Eren’s familiar kisses, tangling one hand through his hair while the other wraps around his shoulders, and Eren slides a slick hand down between their bodies and finally, _finally_ touches him the way he wants, the way he _needs,_ curling his fingers around both their arousals and it’s only a few strokes before Jean’s head snaps back and he’s _coming,_ gasping and cursing and tightening around Marco, who stills inside him, grinding deep against his sweet spot with one final, shaking thrust.  Marco reaches over his shoulder to catch Eren’s chin, pulling him into a desperate, passionate kiss, Eren moaning his name against his lips as his come splashes hot against Jean’s twitching stomach, the waves of his orgasm shaking through both of them.

The next time Jean opens his eyes, he’s still cuddled up in Marco’s arms, although they’re face to face now, and his chest and stomach are less sticky than he was expecting, and he’s got an idea of what was (or more accurately _wasn’t)_ going through Eren’s head after Marco got through with him. 

“Good _morning,”_ Marco says cheerfully, when Jean opens his eyes, and hastily adds “ _Figure of speech!”_ when a brief look of panic crosses his face.  “How’re you feeling?”

“ _Hng.”_

“Good hng?”

“Good hng,” Jean confirms blearily.  Apparently Marco is one of those hyper post-coital people.  Jean’s been compared to a hibernating groundhog, a frozen turtle, and a couple different varieties of sloth over the years, and he lives up to his reputation by draping himself bonelessly over Marco and closing his eyes again.  “Where’s Eren.”

“Shower,” Marco says, jerking his head over his shoulder, and there is indeed a patter of falling water echoing from the suit’s cavernous bathroom. 

“Friggen’ clean-freak…”

Marco just grins at Jean, sticking his tongue out at him, and Jean notices for the first time that he’s wearing _Jean’s_ black knit hat, the one with the horns.  And nothing else.  And he looks adorable.  “Wanna go join him?”

Jean considers, and then half-rolls over and holds out his arms.  “Carry me.”

To his surprise, Marco actually obliges him, putting both hands on his shoulders and sliding them warmly, lovingly down his arms to his wrists…which he grabs, lighting fast, jerks Jean up off the bed and tosses him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes with only the barest grunt of effort.

“You _sonofabitch—“_

“You need to eat more, Kirchstein.”

“You idiots either get in here or get dressed, I’ve got room service bringing us clean sheets,” Eren yells over the shower, and Marco giggles and hauls Jean into the bathroom, trailing multilingual curses all the way.


	4. Wontons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: Sometime post - chapter 3. Jean's birthday is probably coming up.  
> This chapter: Jean plays piano, Jean speaks an unreasonable number of languages, Eren is a giant dog and Marco cries about wontons
> 
> [Here's the song Jean's singing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-3_0ipi_Lq0)

 

As sources of mortal terror go, Marco would have to admit that wontons are kind of a strange one. 

 

He’s sitting with his feet propped on the dusty dash of Eren’s tiny car in the closest approximation of lounging he can manage, hands behind his head and cellphone sitting on his chest.  The car’s parked on an out-of-the way patch of faded, weedy asphalt outside a dented tin-walled building one step above a Quonset hut, with the words _Asien Star_ splayed across the mustard-yellow metal in blobby spray-paint.

 

 He’s waiting for the text that’ll tell him his pickup order is ready to go and knows he’s at least 15 minutes early for it, but the late afternoon sunlight is pounding down through the windshield, warming up his skin without the sting of the October wind to suck the heat away, and the local NPR Classical station isn’t too staticky today and he’s more than content to just bask in the waning sunlight and wait for his buzzing phone to wake him up.

 

His brain won’t quite shut off though, despite the warmth and the pretty Respighi concerto on the radio, and the braindead exhaustion of spending nine hoursin the county records archive (a pastime that’s left him determined to tackle Jean onto the nearest horizontal surface and make a spirited attempt at sucking his soul out through his dick because he somehow manages to do this research bullshit _every day.)_ Marco drags an arm across his forehead with a sleepy groan, shading his eyes long enough to reread the drippy spray-paint letters for the millionth time.  He clicks open the glove compartment without turning his head to watch what he’s doing and fishes out a creased, grease-stained paper takeout menu which shows slightly more evidence of proofreading than the building it came from. 

 

This is the menu that used to hang on the fridge before it got too beat up and ugly and frankly slightly smelly and was banished to the glovebox of the car, and Marco turns it between his fingers in a slow, meditative state, running his finger down the columns of tiny red numbers.  A few of them are underlined, or marked with arrows and tiny labels in Jean’s cramped, angular handwriting, and Marco sighs and rubs his hand over his eyes again. 

 

He’d only been living in the old farmhouse Jean and Eren shared for about a week the first time they declared an Asien Star night, and Marco, ever wary of overstepping his bounds in this weird new environment told them to just go ahead and get their usual.

 

It turned out their ‘usual’ completely eschewed the entrees that took up most of the menu for a complicated combination of appetizers, in servings of 7 and 5 and 3 and 2, that could feed an army for about $20, and split perfectly between two people… but not three, and they’d all realized it in the same cold, shaky, embarrassing moment when no one said anything. 

 

They’d practically tripped over each other demanding he eat the last wonton, and Marco had taken it despite the certain feeling that a giant pit was opening up where his stomach used to be. 

 

He didn’t fit, he _knew_ he didn’t fit, knew since the first spine-chilling realization that Levi’s goddamn ‘audition’ had set him _against_ the team he was supposed to be joining.  Jean and Eren hadn’t seemed to blame him…in fact, they’d emphatically sided _with_ him, and chewed Levi out like a couple of squirrels, but Marco had known from the shock in their handler’s blue eyes that his presence meant that things had….changed.  He was something new, something _outside,_ whose very existence would by definition change their sleepy little microhabitat without really being a part of it.  And the worst part was the fact that the more he saw of their weird little world, (Jean’s tangle of half built computers and his pianos in his attic bedroom, and the life sized Rain poster on the wall patchworked together out of a dozen 8 ½ by 11 sheets of paper, and Eren and Jean’s house-wide half spoken half sign language arguments) the more he _wanted_ to be.

 

He’d managed to hold back the misery until a little after midnight, when he’d thrown up the damn odd-number wonton along with all its cohorts, trying to convince himself it was just the nausea and the unfamiliar food squeezing tears out of his eyes.  He thought he’d gotten through it blessedly unnoticed, until he opened the bathroom door and nearly kicked the glass of water over on the handful of clean towels waiting for him outside.

 

The next day he’d seen Jean standing in front of the refrigerator, glaring fiercely at something about eye level with a pencil stuck behind his ear.  He’d made a phonecall and disappeared out the door, and when he returned half an hour later, the smell of wontons leaking out of the greasy paper bag under his arm landed in Marco’s stomach like a cannonball.

 

Jean had caught his eyes and given him a faint, satisfied smile, and it took Marco a minute to realize that the selection of containers was just a _little_ different…and that this time, it was divisible by three. 

 

He’d snuck back into the kitchen late that night, after Jean had disappeared into his attic bedroom, pulled the takeout menu off the refrigerator and stared at the notes scribbled in its narrow margins, starting with a string of numbers along one corner, heavily underlined: “ _18 21 24 27.”_ Multiples of three.  And he’d followed Jean’s thought process through the columns of tiny addition problems scattered across the menu, breaking down an order meant for two people and stacking it up in new combinations of 2s and 5s and 7s until it was divisible by three.  Until Marco fit. 

 

Eren had wandered by a solid twenty minutes later, shirtless and hair still damp from the shower, and poured himself another cup of coffee without mentioning the fact that Marco was still standing in front of the refrigerator, staring at the takeout menu with tear tracks shining on his cheeks.

 

Wontons are a weird source of mortal terror, but they’re an even _weirder_ reason to fall in love…not with Jean, necessarily, or with Eren (although probably a little bit with Jean _and_ Eren…) He’d fallen in love with this new warm, tiny little two person world, the one he’d been so convinced he’d break, and which had opened up for him and reformed itself around him without a crack showing.

 

 

 

_Asien Star_ is a little faster than usual tonight, and the same Respighi concerto is just winding down when Marco pulls back into the driveway with a relieved sigh, rolling the kinks out of his stiff neck.  Driving 15 minutes on an empty stomach with a bag of hot Chinese food riding shotgun is one of the deepest circles of Marco’s personal hell, which is why he’s not _incredibly_ happy to have the bag jerked out of his hands the moment he steps through the door, and shoved straight into the refrigerator.

 

“ _Eren,_ what the _hell—“_

 

_“Shutupshutupshutup!”_ Eren hisses, pushing Marco back against the refrigerator and honest to god clapping a hand over his mouth.  “Don’t you _hear it?”_

 

Marco blinks at him in confusion before gingerly peeling Eren’s hand off his face.  There’s music drifting down the stairs…sounds like Jean’s usual brand of Kpop, although it’s a little more mellow than the coding music he usually goes for.

 

“Jean’s listening to music, so what?” he shrugs.

 

Eren rolls his eyes hugely, fingers of his free hand fisting in his hair.  “He’s not _listening_ to music you idiot, he’s _singing!_ That’s _him!”_

 

_“That’s_ Jean?”

 

“ _Yeah,_ and if he thinks anyone’s home he’ll _stop,_ so _shush!”_

 

His words barely register.  Marco’s staring up the narrow stairs to Jean’s attic in blind shock, trying to reconcile the music floating through the air as…as _Jean…_

 

Eren puts a hand on his shoulder and jerks his head, motioning Marco to follow.  He points to his feet at the bottom of the stairs, _watch me,_ and Marco mimics his steps on the creaky staircase until they’re right outside Jean’s closed door and the music is clearer than ever.  Eren curls up like a cat, leaning his head back against the wall with a happy sigh. 

 

“I haven’t caught him singing in _months,”_ Eren whispers close to his ear as Marco settles down beside him.  “I think he got paranoid when you moved in.”

 

“Sorry…”

 

Eren just waves the apology off, (a gesture almost exactly like Levi’s, Marco can’t help but notice) eyes still blissfully shut.  “I knew he’d start up again eventually. He always does.”

 

“He’s incredible.”

 

“Ain’t he though?” Eren opens his eyes a little, smiling up at Marco sidelong, and then scoots closer and curls into Marco’s chest, burrowing under his arm and pulling it over his shoulders. 

 

Marco actually goes stiff with surprise, just for a second, before he makes himself relax, pulling Eren closer and wrapping his other arm around his waist, fingers drifting over the warm skin where the hem of his sweatshirt’s pulled up.  Eren’s never done this before, although Marco’s seen him lean on Jean plenty of times, and hug Levi hello and goodbye.  He’s never made his attraction to Marco a secret, but he was equally clear that cuddling wasn’t really his thing, most of the time.  It looks casual, but coming from Eren it’s a declaration of _absolute_ trust and Marco finds his eyes stinging with affection for the second time that day. 

 

He lets his eyes drift shut, Eren’s breath warm on his neck, slipping into the state of zen contentment that had eluded him in the Asien Star parking lot as he listened to Jean sing.  The lyrics weren’t Korean, for once…it sounded Japanese, but he didn’t know the language well enough to be positive, sweet and a little sad.   

 

“Hey…Eren, hey.”

 

“ _Hmrrr?”_

 

“You ever wonder why he does it?”

 

Eren sits up a little, twisting around so he can look up into Marco’s face while still flopped across his chest.  “Does what? This?”

 

“Mmm.”  Marco sighs, staring at the far wall and idly playing with Eren’s hair.  “I mean, let’s be honest, you and I are a pair of basically unemployable assholes with no talents beyond the purview of lying to people and breaking things.”  Eren rolls his eyes, but nods in basic agreement.  “But _him…_ I mean, every building we walk into he can make the network…sit up and beg in twenty minutes, probably knows how to _build_ half of ‘em, speaks five languages…”

 

“…six,” Eren interjects with a grin.

 

“…six languages.  And _apparently_ he could sign a damn recording contract…so what the hell’s he doing _here?_ He should be pulling 250 grand a year in some IT company somewhere, not constantly fifty bucks and a loophole away from jail.”

 

Eren doesn’t answer for a long time, leaning into Marco’s hand as they listen to Jean play – he stopped singing a while ago, but the piano’s still going strong.  “Put it like this,” he says eventually, with a soft sigh.  “People pulling 250 grand a year probably didn’t lose both parents when they were twelve.”

 

“O-oh.”

 

“Yeah.  Sorry…” Eren sighs and wraps around Marco a little more, nuzzling his face into Marco’s neck.  “Downer subject.”

 

Marco squeezes his eyes shut and hugs him tighter, sighing shakily into Eren’s hair.  “How’d they…how’d they die?”

 

“I didn’t say _died,_ I said _lost,”_ Eren says, and it comes out with a bite to it.  Marco loosens his grip, looking down at him in surprise, and Eren shuts his eyes and sits back on his heels, running his fingers through his ruffled hair.  “It’s…it’s _messy,_ Marco.  I’m not tryin’ to c-cut you out, I swear, it’s just…it’s not _my_ story to tell, y’know? It’s been ten years and he _never_ talks about it.”

 

“I understand…it’s okay…it’s… _fuck.”_

 

_“_ Hm? _Oof…”_ Eren gasps, and sighs as Marco squeezes him against his chest, the tears that haven’t been far below the surface all day finally dripping down his cheeks and soaking into Eren’s hair.  “Marco? Hey…”

 

_“It’s not fucking fair,”_ Marco whispers into his hair, his voice choked.  “He deserves _so much_ better…you _both_ do and I fuckin’ _hate_ being…being…” He grits his teeth and lets his head fall back against Jean’s closed door with a loud _thump_.  “I’m just so _powerless…”_

 

Eren sniffles, wrapping his arms around Marco’s waist and burrowing into his chest; comfort’s never been his strong suit and he’s got no idea what else he can do.

 

Jean stands on the other side of the bedroom door, his electric keyboard playing on in a pre-recorded loop behind him.  He leans his forehead against the splintery wood with tears streaking down his cheeks, one hand pressed tight against his mouth, biting at a thumbnail as he fights not to make a sound. 

 

There’s a long, shaky moment of silence on either side of the door, broken only by Jean’s piano playing by itself and Marco crying softly, and Jean very slowly lifts his free hand and rests it on the doorknob.


	5. Little & Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eren got himself messed up during a job and is drugged to the gills. Shenanigans ensue. Confessions of love are made.  
> Probably not the kind you're thinking of though.

“I guess if nothing else it’s an opportunity for blackmail pictures,” Jean says, glancing up into the rearview mirror. “Got your phone handy…?”

“I would, but he’s got my arm pinned.” Marco’s folded his long frame into the back seat of Eren’s ancient car, his arm half around and half _under_ Eren, who lay curled up on top of him in a druggy ball.  “And he’s finally stopped trying to get out of the sling…I don’t wanna wake him up again.”

Jean drops his eyes back to the road, knuckles whitening on the wheel as another semi blows past them like they’re going backwards, slipstream sucking at the tiny car.  It slips over onto the shoulder of the narrow two-lane highway and the rumble strips shake the whole car.  Eren wakes up at that, whimpering in pain and pawing groggily at his injured shoulder.  They’re just flickering silhouettes in the back seat, lit by the occasional yellow glow of the streetlamps and the headlights behind them, and Marco gingerly wraps his arms around Eren’s shaking shape, trying not to jar him any more as he whispers in his ear, kissing his cheeks and his hair.

Jean grinds his teeth together as traffic flowed by in the left lane, sticking doggedly to his 45 mile-per-hour creep in an attempt to spare Eren any more pain.  A low, rattling buzz pervades the endless hiss of the rain on the road: his phone, vibrating in the cup holder between the front seats. 

“Levi again,” Jean mutters, sparing it a split second glance. “Marco, can you—nevermind…” he trails off as Marco raises his eyebrows in the rearview mirror, shrugging the shoulder under Eren’s head.  “We’ll be there in ten minutes anyway…” he glances over his shoulder and they exchange a worried look: they’re both trying not to imagine the kind of pain that _Eren_ can’t handle without being dosed to the gills with painkillers. 

Jean pulls off the interstate and winds his way through the backstreets more or less on autopilot.  Levi’s waiting for them on the front porch as Jean nudges the car into the narrow gravel driveway, sheltering under the overhang. 

“Sorry we messed up Erwin weekend,” Jean says quietly.  Levi just waves him off. 

“It’ll come around again,” he says, looking past Jean to where Marco’s awkwardly kicking open the back car door. “…how bad is it?”

“He’s…it’s…” Jean sighs.  “It’s bad.  Five cracked ribs, and his shoulder is…it was dislocated, and something’s torn, I don’t remember what they said...” he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to fight back migraine left behind by six hours in the emergency room, and Levi squeezes his shoulder and turnes to kneel by the open back door.  “…why’s he wearing your hat?”

“He started freaking out when we got in the car because he couldn’t see Jean anymore and he thought we left him at the hospital,” Marco says, his voice a little strained from Eren’s weight on his chest.  “So we gave him Jean’s hat and apparently that convinced him enough to stop trying to pull his sling off and open the door on the freeway…”

Levi makes a noise that isn’t quite a laugh, reaching into the car.  “C’mon, kid.”

With Levi pulling and Marco pushing, they manage to get Eren’s boneless form more or less sitting up in the car door, the brim of Jean’s knit hat sliding over one eye. 

“He’s probably too drugged up to walk…” Jean says.  “It took both of us to get him _in_ there, and we had a wheelchair.”  He looks up, towards the lighted windows of the house.  “Could Erwin…”

“Nah. I got him.”  Levi wraps one arm on Eren’s shoulder and the other around his waist.  “Come on, kid, help me out here…” he tugs him forward with a heavy sigh.  “I hauled him around for eight years, another – _oof --_ 50 feet won’t kill me.”

Eren is, for all intents and purposes, a hundred and sixty pounds of morphine high, but he still moves faster than Jean could follow, wrenching his injured arm out of its sling and flinging them both around Levi’s neck, almost knocking the smaller man on his ass. 

“ _Uff—_ okay, Eren, _too_ much help…” Levi catches his balance again as Marco reaches out of the back seat to steady him, and tried to unclamp Eren’s arm.  “Let go—“

“ _Noooooo…”_ Eren whines, low and sleepy, tightening his grip and burrowing his face into Levi’s shoulder.  “ _No, nnno don’t…Dad, don’t…”_

If a picture’s worth a thousand words, then the expression that freezes on Levi’s face is at _least_ half a modest novel, the kind scribbled on bar napkins and beer tabs, and probably tossed away with a sneer and a sigh and never shown to anyone. “ _Eren…”_

“ _Don’ leave…Dad don’ leave me…”_

“Ah, c’mon…” Levi says, his voice soft.  With Eren still latched onto his neck, he gets an arm under his legs and stands with a groan.  Eren mumbles again, wrapping his legs around Levi’s waist and hiding his face in his chest.  “Damn spidermonkey…’s too drugged up to know who he’s talking to.”

Jean tilts his head to the side, watching Levi’s face in the dim, warm light from the windows overhead.

“I think he’s so drugged up he finally _does,”_ he says, very softly.  Levi’s doesn’t seem to hear him, but his stride hitches, just for a second, as he carries his sleepy son up the steps into the house. 

Marco clambers out of the car, unsteady on his numb legs, and latches onto Jean’s shoulders, grinning ear to ear.  “ _Jean_ did he just—“

Jean shakes his head, wrapping an arm around Marco’s shoulders in an attempt to rein in the explosion of enthusiasm.  “Kind of a long story. But yeah. Yeah he did.”

Marco claps both hands to his face, squishing his cheeks around a nearly super-sonic squeal of delight, his eyes positively _shining._ “That’s so _cute ohmy **god!”**_

“Good _God_ don’t tell _them_ that.”

“Hey. Idiots,” Levi yells from the porch, temporarily bracing Eren against the doorjamb.  “You gonna stand out there in the rain all night?”

Jean sighs and pinches his nose again, and leans over to kiss Marco’s cheek.  “He’s right.  Come on…let’s go home, huh?”


	6. Still Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: the boy's first Christmas together (chapter 1 + about a year)  
> In this chapter: Levi being introspective and the boys being oblivious
> 
> [Here's the song Jean's playing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PlnuB9tWi4k)

Hearing piano music drifting out of an old building isn’t really an unusual thing, especially if that building happens to contain Jean Kirschtein…but there’s something subtly different tonight, different enough that it causes Levi to pause on the front porch with the sub-zero wind burning his ears, tilting his head to listen.  The music’s not drifting down out of Jean’s attic bedroom (like it used to do for days on end, more than a decade ago) and his window’s dark in any case.  The music’s right on the other side of the door, a pretty drifting waltz tune, intermixed with giggling voices and the occasional _thump._

Levi jumps, and then sneezes, as something brushes against his ankle: one of the local scrawny barn cats he’s never been able to convince the boys to stop feeding.  (A few winters ago Jean rigged up a couple next boxes and a space heater in the crawlspace under the porch, and Levi’s trying not to think about the cubic feet of cat no doubt packed under the boards he’s standing on.) 

Erwin, of course, already has a kitten in each hand, cooing disgustingly while the little furballs purr uproariously at the attention.  He raises his eyebrows as Levi hesitates with his hand on the doorknob.  “What’re you waiting for?”

_Fair question,_ Levi thinks, as Erwin sets the kittens down and they slip off under the porch.  The answer ain’t exactly a logical one either: something’s _different.  Something_ inspired Jean to drag his beloved (heavy-ass) keyboard down the steep attic ladder, and that’s not like him and Levi’s a neurotic creature of habit who’s deeply suspicious of change…and what’s more, so are Jean and Eren.

He thought.

Erwin slides a warm arm around his shoulder, and Levi sighs and leans into him a little (even if his coat smells like cat.) “C’mon,” Erwin murmurs in his ear.  “It’s warmer in there.”

Levi chooses to express his gratitude for the patience and love by sneezing at him, and opens the door, letting out a rush of warm air and tangled music and voices.

“ _Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand one_ two an’ three an’ _one_ two an’ three an’ _one-_ don’t-look-at-your- _feet_ two an’ three an’ _one,_ Jean, that’s _really_ pretty… _“_

At first glance, the high-ceilinged living room seems to have undergone drastic remodeling: the boys have shoved their thrift store jumble of furniture back against one wall, leaving a wide expanse of scuffed hardwood floor clear between the door and a tall, slightly scraggly Christmas tree.  Jean’s sitting cross-legged on top of the coffee table with his keyboard balanced precariously on the arm of the couch in front of him, providing the music that Marco’s counting over.

“ _One_ two an’ three an’ _one –_ see, I told you turning’s easy,” Marco’s saying.  He’s flushed and breathless despite the brutal cold outside, one arm around Eren’s waist and the other holding his hand tight as they spin through the cleared floorspace.  Eren’s clearly concentrating, brows knit together under the bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead, but Marco makes dancing look easier than walking. 

“I could do without the color commentary,” Eren grouses as he stumbles on a turn and Jean grins and whacks the crap out of a random bunch of keys, matching Eren’s wobble with a discordant _clang_ in the music.

Marco just laughs. “No foot-watching,” he says, leaning in to nuzzle his nose against Eren’s cheek (tilting his gaze up away from their bare feet in the process.)  Eren smiles, letting his eyes flutter shut as he tilts his head into the touch, and his movements across the floor come easier and more graceful as he stops thinking and lets his martial artist’s poise take control.

Jean looks up at the opening door and the blast of cold air that follows it, and uses a slow spot in the song to wave enthusiastically, before dropping his hand back to the keys without missing a beat. 

Eren manages to gasp out a greeting the next time they spin by, breathless and flushed and eyes lit up from laughing.  “I don’t think I can stop without crashing – _woahshit—“_ he breaks off as Marco pulls him up short and dips him so low his hair brushes the floor (it’s getting long again, working its way out of the perfunctory ponytail at the base of his neck.)  “ _Warn me_ before you do that!” he gasps, clinging to Marco’s neck and laughing as Marco pulls him back up. 

“There’s hot chocolate in the kitchen,” Marco says, resettling his arm around Eren’s waist, and Jean slows down a little for them, taking over the counting until they find the rhythm again.

_Hot chocolate_ is all Erwin needs to hear, but Levi lingers a little longer after he’s peeled off his damp coat, listening to the boys laugh.  (“Want to try a lift?” “Are you _trying_ to kill me?”) He leans against the wall next to the tree, remembering…their first Christmas in this house, which was still mostly an old stone barn then, cold and drafty and empty.  The Christmases he’d care to remember then he could count on one hand, trying to figure out how to throw a celebration for one broke nineteen-year-old and one deaf six-year-old with raw burn scars wrapped around half his body, back when either one of them were lucky to make it through a night without waking up screaming.

And five years later, Eren bodily carrying Jean down out of the attic he hardly ever left, oblivious to the raw stitches in his nose and his hand, and dumping him on the floor in front of an almost-new electric keyboard, shiny black and a full 88 keys, watching Jean’s face light up with the first smile either of them ever saw…the same keyboard propped across the couch, its plastic facings gray and scuffed, and Jean’s not even bothering to watch his hands on the keys as his eyes trail Eren and Marco around the room.  He’d tried to tell Eren, back then, that they couldn’t possibly afford a full keyboard, even secondhand, and Eren made him swear up and down he wouldn’t buy _him_ any Christmas presents, or birthday presents, or _anything_ for as long as it took, as long as Jean got the piano. 

_You’re gonna give up_ everything?

_Yeah, Jean’ll play for me, that’s enough, that’s_ more _than enough._

And there had been another Christmas Eve, much later on, on one of the rare nights that Jean fell asleep early and it was just the two of them again, and Eren asked if Levi believed in God.

_I don’t know, kid.  Truly, I don’t._ And he’d hesitated for a second, and then asked, _what about you?_

Eren had gone silent for a long, long time, staring at the tree and the cheap white lights that Jean had rewired, so they flickered and dimmed and brightened softly and randomly, mimicking the stars outside the window. 

_I don’t know either,_ he said eventually. He’d curled up into Levi’s side with his head on his shoulder, a little like he used to do when he was still tiny enough to fit in Levi’s lap.  _But…okay this is stupid, so don’t laugh…but…I know that when I could hear again…when I could hear music for the first time in five years, I know that you somehow brought home a musician._

The boys’ twirling path around the room brings them close to Jean perch on the coffee table, and Marco reaches down in passing, trails his fingers across the back of Jean’s hand and all the way up his arm and shoulder, ruffling through his hair before they spin away and Eren catches his hand again.  The same Marco Levi met in the terminal at Jinae, a little over a year ago, sleepless and dead-eyed and flinching at shadows, his fingers bitten and twitching and fluttering over anything they could grab like he was searching for an anchor, and now he’s smoothing his steady hand over Eren’s back, fingertips tracing around the scars on his shoulders.  Eren leans into him, resting his head on Marco’s shoulder, clearly no longer having to think about the dancing as he lets Marco lead, and Jean’s watching both of them as he plays, eyes glowing in a way that has nothing to do with reflected light. 

Erwin slips back into the living room with two mugs of Eren’s Genocide-by-Chocolate crockpot concoction, hands one to Levi and drapes his arm over his shoulder.  Levi takes the mug with a sigh, leaning back into Erwin’s chest, and traces his thumb over the ring on his finger that he still hasn’t quite gotten used to.  His boys aren’t the only ones who’ve changed.

“Jean, how long _is_ this song?”

“I’ve been looping for like twenty minutes, I _totally_ forgot how it ends…”

“Well make something up, my feet are tired—“

“You did good there,” Erwin says in his ear, resting his chin on the top of Levi’s head.  “Those three are unstoppable, together.”

Normally he’d object violently to Erwin leaning on him, but this one time Levi just smirks and turns his head enough to look up into Erwin’s blue eyes, that he used to think were so cold…

_How the hell are you planning to do this?  How are you going to keep_ another _kid safe?_ Especially _this kid?_

You _fucking tell Eren that we’re leaving him behind!_

_You can’t do this. You can’t keep…keep_ adopting strays, _Levi—_

_He’s not a stray, he’s a_ child, _he’s a_ person, _you_ son-of-a-bitch—

…and sometimes, with the last ten years of pain and fear and bloodshed somehow behind them, with everything so goddamn _different_ now, it’s hard not to be terrified of the _next_ ten years.

Jean chooses that moment to somehow turn his pretty waltz into the last few bars of the _Looney Toons_ theme and bring Eren and Marco to a crashing, giggling halt. 

…and sometimes there are moments like this one, when he’s _not_ afraid of the future…and that’s something he’s never been before.


	7. Hoki Mai Ki Te Wā Kaingā

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter kind of functions to a sequel to [this rad comic](http://hachidraws.tumblr.com/post/101968196247/eren-has-been-out-on-a-solo-job-for-weeks-on-end) by the equally rad hachidorikun. Eren's been out on his own for weeks and decides to surprise Jean by getting home early...and then promptly falls asleep on the couch. 
> 
> God what a nerd.

The first thing Eren’s aware of on this particular morning is an earsplitting squeak, which tells his bleary brain that he went to sleep with his sound processors still in, for some damn-fool reason.  And he’s on the couch, and the couch has gotten oddly uncomfortable and almost…bony…and then Jean’s arms are wrapped around him and he’s squeezing Eren against his chest as the blanket tangled around their legs slips to the floor. 

 _“You’re back early!”_ Jean’s squeaking in his ear, burying his cold nose in Eren’s hair.  “ _You’re back you’re back you’re back—“_

Eren chuckles, squirming closer so he can drape his arms over Jean’s shoulders.  “Hey, baby.  ‘M home.” 

Jean tips his face up, arms still crushingly tight around Eren’s waist and he gives himself over to Jean’s warm, sleepy kisses, months of tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying draining away.  He lets himself settle between Jean’s legs, trying to catch some of his weight on his elbows to avoid squishing his weedy boyfriend, and Jean just grumbles against his lips and tugs him down again.  Apparently he’s in the mood to be squished today. 

“Two months is _too long,”_ Jean murmurs when they finally break apart for air.  Eren cups his hands around his face and presses their foreheads together, and Jean’s quick to return the gesture – a warm little ritual of endearment they’ve both picked up from Marco.  Jean’s fingers are cold against his neck, and Eren trails his hands down his slim frame and slips them under his waist, pulling Jean tighter against his chest and trying to warm him up.

“You were asleep at midnight,” he says, as Jean hums and presses his face into Eren’s neck. (If Eren’s in one of his rare snuggly moods Jean’s gonna milk it for every second.)  “I’m proud.”

“Feels like you’re in one piece,” Jean mumbles, his hands running over Eren’s sides and down his back.  Eren rolls his eyes.

“Teachin’ lip reading isn’t exactly a risky occupation.”

“Teaching lip reading on a _military base,”_ Jean corrects, nudging Eren away so he can sit up on his elbows and look into his face.  “If there’s sparring happening somewhere you _always_ find it.”  He catches one of Eren’s hands and runs his thumb over a few old scabs on his knuckles. 

“It was _just_ sparring, baby. My hands are fine, see? I was careful.”

Jean scowls and grabs both his hands, gripping Eren’s fingers and bending them carefully back and forth, feeling his joints for swellings.  When he’s finally satisfied he drops Eren’s hands with a sigh and throws his arms around his neck again, leaning back and tugging Eren down with him. 

“Two months is _still_ too long.”  There's a hint of a hitch in his voice, and Eren winces and kisses his neck, stroking his fingers through Jean’s hair.  He knows he’s thinking the same thing Jean is: the two of them haven’t been apart for two months as long as they’ve known each other.  He also knows damn well that’s half the reason Levi pushed so hard for him to take the job offer, eight weeks on an Air Force base in South Dakota teaching lip-reading and tactical sign language.  Levi’d known he’d fight it as soon as he heard _eight weeks…_ hell, a year ago he would’ve flat out _refused_ to leave Jean on his own that long. 

But this isn’t a year ago, and he's notleaving Jean alone, not this time.  Jean has Marco now – _they_ have Marco now, and leaving doesnt feel like abandoning him anymore.  Jean had been fast asleep on the couch when he slipped in through the back door, a few days earlier than he’d planned, and he’d barely twitched when Eren decided his bedroom was too far away (and much too empty) and just curled up next to him.

They might’ve been fine on their own for eight weeks, but that didn’t mean Eren hadn’t missed them so much it sometimes felt like a physical _ache,_ a miserable pulsing weight sitting on his stomach.  (The Skype sex had been fun, but it sometimes only made the homesickness _worse,_ once his screen was blank again and he was back to being alone and _much_ too far away from home.)  He’s spent so much time counting down the days that actually _being_ here almost feels surreal, and he gathers Jean in closer to his chest to feel his heartbeat fluttering against his skin, dropping kisses across his face.  It’s a kind of romance, of tenderness, that doesn’t always come naturally to him, but it’s worth it to feel Jean squirming under him, his soft breaths changing, faster and shallower, both of them just reveling in finally being _together._

“It’s not Sunday already, is it?” The muzzy voice in the doorway breaks them apart, and Eren whips his head around, already grinning ear to ear.  Marco’s leaning against the doorframe, shirtless and tousle-headed and _clearly_ not fully awake yet…and Eren’s apparently been gone long enough to forget just _how_ gorgeous he is in person. 

“I’ll…uh…I’ll come up with breakfast…” Marco mumbles, rubbing his finger under his nose.  “Don’t mind me…”

“ _Marco—“_

“ _I was afraid of that,”_ Jean whispers, and Eren launches his body half off the couch and manages to snag Marco around the waist as he tries to slip past them into the kitchen.

“ _Get_ back over here you _dumb kiwi—“_ Marco stumbles at the attack, and Eren pushes the advantage to reel him in.  “I _missed_ you,” he whispers, tilting his head to nuzzle his nose against Marco’s soft, warm flesh.  “I missed you so much…”

“That uh. That might carry a little more weight if you weren’t smooshing your face into his ass,” Jean comments.

“I missed it too,” Eren says, his voice a little nasal since his nose is being squished as he nuzzles into the curve of Marco’s ass.  He can practically _hear_ Jean rolling his eyes behind him.  “Point is, you are going _nowhere,_ c’mere…”

Jean scoots back, curling his long legs in to make room so Eren can drag Marco down onto the couch with them.  As soon as he’s within reach, Eren twists around and pulls him close enough to kiss, still mostly sitting in Jean’s lap.  Marco smiles against his lips, and Eren runs his hands down his neck and across his warm, bare shoulders, trying to rub away the tension Marco always seems to carry with  him. Jean hums behind them, hips hitching up against Eren’s weight.  He leans in to nuzzle his lips against Eren’s neck, and slides his hands over his waist.

Eren’s got a layer of hoodie to insulate him (and he’s used to Jean’s ice-cube extremities) but when the backs of Jean’s hands graze across Marco’s bare stomach, he goes ramrod stiff, squeaking into Eren’s mouth.

“ _Holycoldshit!”_

“ _Mmmm, warm.”_ Jean flattens his freezing palms against Marco’s stomach, spreading his fingers across his ribs, and Marco squeals louder, trying to flail away in the limited space.

“ _Coldcoldcoldcoldcold—“_

Eren laughs and laces his fingers with Jean’s, shoving both his hands into his hoodie’s kangaroo pocket.  It has the added effect of dragging Jean in close so his chest is pressed to Eren’s back, and he instantly flops over Eren’s shoulders with a contented noise.

“Nerd.”

“ _Warm.”_ Jean’s clearly still mostly asleep.

“Okay Marco, the snowman is contained.  You can come back.”

Marco smiles, but he hesitates, scraping a hand through his hair and tilting his head away, avoiding both their eyes.

“ _Marco.”_ Eren disentangles his fingers from Jean’s and reaches for him, catching Marco’s hands, and Marco sighs and relents, relaxing back into his arms.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” 

Eren twines their fingers together and nudges his nose against Marco’s cheek, waiting ‘til he raises his head, meeting Eren’s eyes through the veil of his thick lashes.  “You know I love you, right?”

There’s something about the way Marco’s eyes change, right before he cups his palms around Eren’s cheeks and tilts his face up to kiss him.  There’re times when Marco looks, well… _broken,_ like there’s something shattered deep behind his eyes, all jagged edges and splinters tearing into him every time he breathes…and Eren doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of telling Marco he loves him and watching all those broken blades melt away, warm and reform and give him back the light in his smile.

“I love you too,” Marco sighs.  Jean’s snuggled up close to Eren’s back, hands still buried in the pockets of his hoodie, dropping lazy kisses along his neck.  “Missed you,” Marco says, and Jean nods vigorously, resting his chin on Eren’s shoulder. 

Eren rotates and loops an arm around each neck so he can pull his boys in closer, close enough that he can kiss either one of them by turning his head an inch.  Jean works an arm around his waist, slipping his fingers under the hem of his sweatshirt.  Marco’s quick to follow suit, and Eren just goes boneless and lets himself get tangled up in the two of them.  “’s good to be home.”

“You were home last night, wern’cha?” Marco says with a soft laugh, trailing kisses over the scar that runs up his side of Eren’s neck.

“ _Mmm_ doesn’t count. Not without you here.”

Marco sits back on his heels at that, blinking down at him, and Eren smiles and reaches back to cup a hand around the back of his head, sitting up to press their foreheads tight together.  “We’re gonna keep sayin’ it ‘til you believe it, beautiful.  You’re important now.  You’re _ours._ Part of our lives.”  Marco lets out a slow, shaky breath, hands coming up to rest on Eren’s shoulders, and he brushes a quick kiss against his parted lips. “Home’s where _you_ are. Both of you.”

 _“Hoki mai ki te wā kaingā…”_ Marco replies softly.

“Hm?”

“ _Welcome home,”_ Jean translates, and leans up to nip at Eren’s earlobe, making him jump and shiver and effectively breaking the moment.  Eren shoots him a filthy look over his shoulder, and Jean grins, clearly pleased with himself, sliding his arms around Eren’s waist again. 

“Was _six_ languages not enough for you?”

“It’s actually surprisingly similar to Korean,” Jean murmurs into his neck.  He tugs Eren back around to face him, running his hands over his stomach as they kiss lazily, and Marco sits up behind him and tugs Eren’s sweatshirt off over his head.  Or _most_ of the way off: before he can shake it off his arms Marco catches one of the loose sleeves and winds it a few times around his wrists, leaving Eren effectively snared with his arms resting on the back of the couch above his head.  Jean makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, although his hands don’t stop their lazy wandering over Eren’s chest, and Eren rolls his head to the side and raises his eyebrows at Marco.

“Trust me?” he asks, looking down at Eren with a wide, teasing grin.

“Course I do.”  Marco’s grin widens, and he leans down to kiss him, warm and thorough, one hand still holding Eren’s wrists together as Jean strips his own shirt off and curls back into his side.  Marco’s not holding him tight, and truth be told Eren could probably shake his way out of his makeshift restraint in about thirty seconds, but he is also _deeply_ intrigued by whatever his boys have in mind…especially when Jean’s long, graceful fingers slipped under the waistband of his pants with gentle, teasing touches.

 Eren sinks his teeth into his lip, letting his head fall back against his arms and Jean grins and knees him in the side, urging him to lift his hips and let Jean shoves his pants down his thighs.

“Good to see you too,” Jean says, to Eren’s dick, which bounces out eagerly against his stomach.

“You’re such a _d-d-dork, ohmyGod mmmm—“_

“You know you love it,” Jean says, leaning up to brush his lips across Eren’s, then Marco’s.  The hand not curled lovingly around his dick rubs over his shoulders, checking for any tension Eren might not notice, and Eren _almost_ has the presence of mind to roll his eyes at him.  Jean hadn’t been any happier than him at the prospect of Eren being on his own for two months, convinced he’d shred himself to ribbons without Jean there to check him over every night, and Eren was beginning to suspect that Levi had pushed him to take the job to prove to them that they really _would_ survive apart for more than a few days at a time…

 _Survive, sure…_ live… _maybe not so much…_ Eren arched against the restraints around his wrists, straining up to catch Jean’s lips, the teasing, barely there touches already fraying his patience.  Jean allows him one quick, rough kiss before he leans back, tongue darting across his flushing lips, and Eren moans at him in frustration. Jean _finally_ fists his cock with a firm grip and pumps him, fast and hard…for about four strokes, and then he pulls his hand away, unbuttoning the jeans he’d slept in as Eren arches after him with a half-delirious groan, teeth tearing into his lower lip.

“You look so _cute_ when you do that,” Marco murmurs, lips brushing against his ear. “With your spikey teeth ‘n your d-dimples, God…” His hand settles on Eren’s shoulder and he gently nudges him up, untangling his wrists and letting his sweatshirt drop to the floor behind the couch.  Eren let Marco turn him, swinging a leg over Jean’s thighs as Jean lies back against the arm of the couch, Eren more or less sitting in his lap. 

“Don’t you love how red his lips get?” Marco whispers, sliding his hands warm and firm down his sides and curling his fingers around Eren’s hips.  “Kinda makes you want to stick your dick in his mouth, right? You know he loves that…”

The only response Eren can manage is a strangled whine between his teeth, bringing one hand back to tangle in Marco’s hair as Marco rolls his hips lazily against his ass, still murmuring suggestions against his ear and Eren’s so light-headed with it all he’s starting to wonder if it’s possible to just…float off the couch. Jean’s watching them with rapt attention, idly stroking himself, all teasing gone from his smile: it’s nothing but warm and delighted and loving now.  Marco smooths a palm over Eren’s chest, fingers playing around the edges of the ropey shrapnel scars wrapped around his chest.  (He’s also kissing the long, deep one on his neck again, but at the moment Eren’s prepared to let that damn Harlequin cliché slide.)

“C’mon, c’mon baby…” Jean’s apparently gotten sick of waiting, he slides his hands up Eren’s thighs and tugs him down into his lap, and they both gasp and shiver as their erections brush together.  Eren decides to actually _use_ his freed hands for once, threading his fingers through Jean’s soft hair, dropping the other between their bodies and their fingers tangle together around their slick arousals. 

Marco hums and plasters himself against Eren’s back; he’s finally lost his pants and Eren grinds shamelessly back against him before riding foreward into Jean’s calloused palm.  Jean arches into it, leaning in to kiss Marco warm and messy over Eren’s shoulder, and after all the teasing he’s already fighting down the tuggings of an orgasm building up low in his belly. 

Marco trails a hand down his back, over the swell of his ass, dipping between the cheeks and Eren shivers _hard_ again, letting his head fall back against Marco’s shoulder.  “Mmmm, _fuck,_ Marco…”

“Literally?” Marco says with a faint chuckle. Eren blinks at him, and Jean goes still, raising his eyebrows with a grin.

“Why the _hell_ not.  Where’s the lube?”

“It’s…uh…” Jean digs the heel of his hand into his eye with a groan.  “In the _car_ still, shit.”  All three of them sag briefly.  Jarred back to reality. 

“Hn. Hold that thought,” Marco says.  “Lemme try something.” He nudges Eren a little further up onto his knees, and pushes his thighs a little bit further together, licking his free hand and slicking up his dick as he does.

It takes a couple false starts, even once Eren’s figured out what he’s going for and pushed Jean into sitting up more, but the two of them find their rhythm again, fucking Jean’s hand…and Marco presses a warm kiss to the corner of Eren’s eyes and slides his dick between his thighs, teasing across the sensitive skin where they meet his body.  

“ _Mmmm…n-nice…”_ he murmurs, hitching back into Marco’s movements.  It’s not quite the real thing, but the slick head of Marco’s cock is teasing the underside of his balls with warm, pleasant friction, and Marco’s arms wind tight around Eren’s waist and roam over his muscled chest again, slow and heavy and almost worshipfull.  All three of them are gasping for it, Eren’s fingers in Jean’s hair trembling and tugging and Marco buries his forehead in the crook of his shoulder and _moves,_ hips rocking hard against Eren’s ass and its getting harder and harder to keep the rhythm.

“’m close…baby I’m close…” Jean whimpers, tilting his head against the pull of Eren’s hand in his hair, trying to catch his lips.

“Me…m-me too, c’mon…” Eren curls his fingers around Jean’s again, adding to the pressure.  Jean adds a twist to his wrist, pressing the heads together and sliding his thumb through Eren’s slit and that’s all it takes to tip him over the edge, stars popping behind his eyes and Marco curses in his ear, sinking his teeth into his shoulder.  Eren lets his head fall back, pushing his hips back into his movements, urging him on with gasping whispers as the aftershocks shake through his body.  Jean reaches between Eren’s leg with his come-slick hand and curls his fingers around the head of Marco’s cock, making him hiss and buck forward into Eren’s back, and Jean manages to finish them both together, come mixing on Eren’s dark, sweaty skin.

Eren lets out a long, shuddering breath and lets himself sag onto Jean’s chest, just for this minute not caring about the mess.  Jean hugs him tight, kissing his cheeks, and then rolls him gently to the side to make room for Marco to flop over with them, so that Eren and Marco are more or less nose-to-nose (and more or less on top of Jean.)  Marco cups his face and gives him a long, grateful kiss. 

“How long can I convince you to cuddle before you sprint for the shower?” Jean mutters in his ear.

“Ulgh. Sorry.”  Eren tilts his head to kiss him, but disentangles himself and sits up nevertheless.  “I haven’t even showered off the Greyhound grime yet.  You can always _join_ me…”

Jean sighs as Marco (the least sticky of them) swings his legs off the couch and reaches for a nearby box of Kleenex.  “I’ll help Marco make breakfast.  Our water bill can’t take too many more communal showers…”  Eren winces.  Reality strikes again.

He keeps his shower short, especially once the smell of cooking waffles wafts its way in from the kitchen.  He exits the shower to a bathroom stripped of towels and Marco waiting outside the door to tackle him with a blanket the second it opens, while Jean yells at them both to stop dripping everywhere and come get some damn food before he feeds it to the goats, and yeah, he’s _definitely_ home.


	8. 11-11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter: ridiculous fluffy plot-irrelevant nonsense. And pocky.
> 
> Inspired by this comic, by the ever-amazing Hachi: http://hachidraws.tumblr.com/post/102954580712/later-on-jean-finds-out-eren-secretly-told-marco
> 
> My writing music, for no particular reason besides it's pretty: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=17svtURunUk
> 
> Timeline: You'll see :D

**“** So hypothetically speaking,” Eren says, riffling through the generic “!!Thanks for Coming!!” grocery bag next to his feet, “do you think there’s a lethal dose of Pocky?”

Jean smirks at his computer screen, one of the crunchy things dangling from his lips like a long, skinny cigarette.  “If there is we’re probably well on our way to discovering it.” 

Their hotel shares a block of desperately “upscale” strip-mall with a little Asian grocery, and the younger employees must’ve clued the owners in on the concept of Pocky Day because they were practically _giving_ the stuff away.  Jean and Eren had wandered down there in search of something more interesting than Culvers for dinner, and come back with…a certain amount of Pocky.  Were Pocky a controlled substance they’d both be looking at life sentences and the look the elderly lady behind the counter gave them suggested she was seriously considering calling the cops. Or maybe a pre-emptive ambulance. Either way they giggled about it all the way back to their room. 

Jean digs around in the red box next to his knee, and frowns when he comes up with nothing but empty wrappers. 

“Ey.” He waves the box over his head, not looking up from his laptop and still typing awkwardly with his left hand.  “I need another hit.”

Eren raises his eyebrows.  “Are you _still_ trying to get that phone line script figured out?” he asks, watching Jean hunch over his laptop.  Jean’s sitting cross-legged on the big hotel bed, laptop propped up on a phonebook and a puke-green Gideon Bible to keep it from overheating, but Eren can’t see the screen from his spot on the couch.

“Hah? What, no, I got that thing working ages ago. ‘S compiling. I’m playing Galaga.”

“ _Nerd._ You want more Pocky come over here and get it before your legs atrophy.”

Jean shoots him a dirty look, but his scowl softens when Eren sits up straighter and holds out his arms.  He pushes his laptop over to the corner of the bed closest to the couch and stands with a groan, stretching out his spine briefly before collapsing in the space left for him on the couch, nestled between Eren’s legs.  It’s a longstanding compromise: Eren’s not always in a cuddly mood and “cuddly” or “belligerent porcupine” are essentially the only moods Jean _has._

“Adventure Time, or more Parks and Rec?” he asks, reaching for his laptop.

“Season six up yet?” Eren asks with a lazy shrug Jean feels against his back without having to turn his head.  He finds the spot where they last left off and settles back comfortably, stretching over Eren’s lap to reach the stuffed bag of Pocky boxes.  It speaks volumes about the difference between them (or at least the difference in natural insulation) that Jean’s wearing a hoody over a couple layers of T-shirts, and Eren’s shirtless and still a little damp, air drying from a shower.  He brings one hand up to Jean’s shoulders, rubbing the heel of his palm into the knots of tension in his neck, and Jean settles back against his warm, solid chest with a contented sigh.  He’s fought his entire life against the grate of anxiety, like having fine-grain sandpaper dragged across the surface of his brain…but something about being close to Eren makes it easier to control.

“Think they’ve got Pocky in New Zealand?” Eren asks idly, cracking open another box one-handed.

Jean snorts at the left-field question, and then shrugs, holding out a hand over his head and letting Eren shake a few sticks out into his palm.  “I mean, geographically speaking, they’re a hell of a lot closer to Japan than we are…”

“Hmm…”

Jean cast a suspicious glance over his shoulder; he’s learned to _hear_ the evil grins in Eren’s voice. 

“Think they’ve got the Pocky _game_ in New Zealand?”

“If this is in any way related to whatever you two were giggling about when you came back from working out –“

“ _Hey_ Marco!” Eren says brightly, and Jean swallows a groan.  This is going nowhere good. 

“What’ve you duffas been doin’?” Marco asks, leaning against the doorframe with a camera bag dangling from his shoulder and a little digital camcorder still in his hand.   He grins at them with the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth and Jean’s suddenly not sure why he felt so many layers were necessary, did Marco turn up the heat when he came in…?  Eren leans away and spreads his arms over the back of the couch and it seems like his heartbeat against his back just picked up a notch…

“We,” Jean says, slightly relieved when his voice comes out mostly normal, “have been eating a potentially fatal amount of Pocky. Want one?”  He clamps one of the sticks in his hand between his teeth and gestures at Marco with the other one.

“Yeh, alright.” Marco lets the stakeout equipment drop to the bed next to Jean’s laptop, and flashes a quick, almost _dirty_ grin over Jean’s head, at Eren…

“Don’ mind if I do,” Marco says…and before Jean can process what’s happening he braces one hand on the back of the couch, on Eren’s _arm,_ completely ignoring the candy in Jean’s hand, he leans in close and curls the tip of his tongue around the end of the Pocky stick between Jean’s teeth.

The Pocky stick he’s holding bounces on the carpet unheeded and Jean’s fingers sort of curl uselessly, the tips brushing against the collar of Marco’s shirt as he leans over him, his ears are ringing he’s _way_ too hot…Eren’s breathing has _definitely_ picked up and his hips shift, just a little, and Marco bites off the Pocky stick and his lips just _barely_ brush against Jean’s, soft and fleeting but definitely _not_ accidental and Eren makes a faint, strangled noise in his ear.

“Thanks fr’sharin.’” Marco smiles widely, sticking his tongue out at Jean again.  Jean doesn’t notice, staring blankly and unblinkingly at the patch of ceiling that had recently been blocked by Marco’s head, one hand still outstretched and the very end of a Pocky stick still clenched between his teeth.

“ _H-h-holy shit!”_ Eren gasps, exploding in peals of laughter as Jean keeps staring, face blank as a bluescreened computer.  “I didn’t think you were actually gonna _do_ it!”

“Couldn’t pass up _that_ opportunity, could I?” Marco says, licking chocolate off his lips.  “ _Mmm_ …even sweeter than I thought…” And Jean’s eyes still aren’t quite focused but he _thinks_ Marco just winked…

“Anyway, it’s go time,” Marco says, suddenly all business as he picks up the camcorder again and looks at his pink watch.  “Cathedral locked its doors twenty minutes ago, so everyone’ll be cleared out by now.  If we’re going over the wall, now’s the time right?”

“Right.” Eren climbs over Jean and grabs his hoodie off a chair, throwing it carelessly over his bare chest.  “Let’s do it. Right? Jean?” Eren pokes his knee with a toe, and Jean jolts back to reality.

“ _Right!_ Yeah, twenty minutes, park in the alley—“

“Between the sycamore tree and the yield sign where we’re out of the camera sweep,” Marco finishes for him.  “C’mon Eren, I wanna leave us time for traffic…”

“Got it.” Eren pauses by the couch, catches the strings of Jean’s hoodie, and tugs his head up for a quick kiss, tasting the lingering chocolate and…something else, maybe a taste, maybe a smell, maybe just an illusion…or maybe the lingering flavor of Marco’s barely there kiss. 

“Come back safe,” Jean mumbles, reaching up to run his fingers once through Eren’s hair and nuzzle their noses together.  Eren kisses him again, and when he straightens up Jean catches Marco watching them with a faint smile that doesn’t quite match the shadows in his eyes, and Jean wonders for a second if they’ve been overdoing it with the PDA.  But then Eren’s bouncing over to him, grabbing his heavy equipment bag off the floor and Marco’s shadowed expression is gone, replaced by a giggling smile as Eren slings an arm around his shoulders (he has to go up on his tiptoes to reach and Jean bites his lip against a smile.)

“You come back safe too,” he calls to Marco as they head through the door.  “And if you have to climb _wear your goddamn gloves—“_ Eren flips him off without turning his head, but Marco looks back…and honest to God _blows him a fucking kiss_ before the door closes behind them. 

Jean stares at the door for a minute, and then he flops back over the arm of the couch with a deflated noise and stares at the ceiling. He gives himself exactly one minute to just lie there and try to completely memorize the feeling of Eren licking away the chocolate Marco left behind, pressing his fingers to his tingling mouth as the blush burns its way over his cheeks again. 

Then he crawls over to his laptop, slaps his headset on over his hat, and gets the fuck to work.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, check out my tumblr (kenjiandcompany) or the fic: liar liar tag for the ABSURD AMOUNT of amazing fanart that's been drawn for this fic I am not worthy *sobs*


	9. Coat of Arms: The Conan-Doyle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little explanation of what the heck is going on here.
> 
> Liar Liar started out as a bunch of loosely connected tumblr-fics, but I've wanted to do something more plot-centric (and chronological) in this universe for awhile now. TO THAT END, this is the prologue to [ a little something called Liar Liar: Coat of Arms, which will be running over in this here doc.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2774567) I'm also posting it here so that you guys already subscribed to Liar Liar will see it. 
> 
> This fic will remain a dumping ground for whatever shenanigans I feel the need to get out of the way while Coat of Arms is running, but if you wanted to see the boys in action, with a little more plot and a little more at stake, go check out Coat of Arms

 

In the year and a half since he left New Zealand for north-central Minnesota, Marco doesn’t think he’s ever seen Levi  _not_ look tired.  He looks even worse than usual when Marco opens the back door to the insistent knocking.  The fact that it’s three in the morning is probably a contributing factor.

“Wake up Jean,” Levi says, brushing past Marco into the living room without bothering to take off his coat.  “I’ve got a hard drive for him to get intimate with.”

“What’s going on?” Marco asks softly, not moving from the doorway.  He’s learned from experience that Levi’s sense of priority isn’t always the greatest, and he’s not about to wake up Jean for some sketchy credit card charge or something.

Levi shoots him a heavy-eyed glare, and then relents, collapsing back onto the sofa and scraping a hand through his hair.  

“A...a _contact_ of Erwin’s went off the grid, about three hours ago.  He missed a check-in, and then his phones went off-line, his email’s locked, apartment’s empty...something spooked him, and we’ve got no idea what.  Chances are his cover’s been blown.”

“How important was his cover?”

Levi’s not normally one for eye contact,  but at that he looks Marco dead in the eyes, face tight with tension and exhaustion.

“He’s a North Korean defector.”

Marco goes to find Jean.

 

Erwin’s caught up to Levi by the time Jean’s rousted himself and conjured a tangle of computer equipment across the coffee table in the living room.  

“Careful with that,” Erwin says as Jean plugs a wide ribbon cord into the disembodied hard drive and starts tapping commands into a C prompt.  “He might have the whole thing set to wipe itself if--”

Jean just snorts loudly, fingers dancing over his keyboard, and the screen flickers a few times before his laptop reboots itself off the new drive.  “You were saying?”

“If I wasn’t the one employing you I’d probably try to have you killed,” Erwin mutters to himself, rubbing his temples, and Levi punches him in the shoulder with a smack that echoes even in the high-ceilinged living room.  Jean just grins around the pen he’s chewing on, and starts exploring the contents of the new hard drive.

Marco curls up in a corner and just listens, trying to take in everything he can, as he usually does in these weird meetings when a new job’s suddenly exploded around them.  Jean just hunches over his computer, cross-legged in front of the coffee table and gradually blocking out everything around him, and Eren just heads for the kitchen and starts making food.  

It takes Jean about two hours and three cups of coffee to break into the remnants of the hard drive’s wiped email accounts.  “What time was the check-in your boy missed?”

Erwin glances at his watch.  “About twelve hours ago now.”

“Hn.” Jean sits back and arches his spine with  a wince, and then spins his laptop screen towards Erwin.  “What a coincidence.  Your friend got a really damn strange email about...twelve hours and three minutes ago.  S’all in Korean...just a list of names and…” he squints at the small print, little subheadings under each name in the list.  “Family members, it looks like?   _Syung Hung-woo, elder sister, Kim Eun-so, two children, one remaining,_ the hell does that mean?  It just goes on like that, fifteen people.  Jin Ji-Hoon, Kim Song-li...oh. _Oh.”_

The sounds of Eren doing dishes in the kitchen stops, and he pokes his head around the doorway into the living room.  “Isn’t Kim Song-li--”

“That’s Marlowe Song’s real name,” Jean says, spinning around on the floor so he can stare at Levi and Erwin, behind him on the couch.  “Your ‘contact’ was Marlowe _freakin’_ Song?”

Marco frowns.  Kim Song-li didn’t ring a bell, but Marlowe Song… “Isn’t he that pianist you never shut up about last Christmas?”

“He’s only the best contemporary soloist _alive,”_ Jean says.  “I had no idea he was North Korean.”

“He doesn’t exactly advertise it,” Levi says quietly, and Jean blushes.

“Well, yeah, obviously…”

“Can you trace the sender?” Erwin asks, his soft voice cutting off Jean’s embarrassed mumbling.  

Jean snorts again.  “Not a chance in hell.  They used the best detection-confounding technique in existence.”

“That five-point encryption thing that leaked from the Pentagon?”

  “Nah. Hotmail account.”  Jean shoots Erwin a lopsided grin.  “No protection like the protection of 360 million eighth grade girls from 2001.”  

Erwin just rolls his eyes, and Levi nudges Jean in the ribs with a toe, a tacit way of telling him to tone down the snark and get on with it.  

“Best I can give you right now is that it was a mass email,” Jean says, turning back to his computer and tapping through lines of HTML.  “Sent to...Jesus, about a hundred people.”

Levi and Erwin exchange a glance.  “I was afraid of that,” Erwin says with a heavy sigh.  “It’s a Conan-Doyle.”

Marco raises his eyebrows and glances at Eren, who just shrugs helplessly and Levi and Erwin confer.  Jean catches the glance though, and scoots over to Marco’s armchair, leaning back against his legs.  “Arthur Conan-Doyle once sent a message to five of his friends, as a prank,” he explains, grabbing one of Marco’s hands and dropping it unceremoniously on top of his head.  Marco takes the hint with an eyeroll, scratching his nails lightly across Jean’s scalp as he continues.  “It was just an unsigned note that said ‘ _We are discovered, flee immediately.’_ Four of ‘em just laughed.  The _fifth_ guy disappeared the next day and was never heard from again.   _That’s_ a Conan-Doyle.”  

“It was a shot in the dark?” Eren asks, coming to perch next to Marco on the arm of his chair.  “They’re just sending that list to anyone they think might _possibly_ be on it…”

“And wait to see who chokes,” Jean finishes for him.  “If they didn’t know for sure that Kim Song-li was a North Korean defector, they’re gonna know it in a couple days.”  

“Three days on the nose,” Levi says.  “He’s supposed to play a concert at Oberlin College this Saturday.  His US debut, brand new composition. They offered him something like a quarter-million dollars for it.  If he doesn’t show up to collect _that_ payday…”

“He’s blown.”

“He’s _completely_ fucking blown,” Levi agrees, flopping bonelessly against the back of the couch and staring up at the ceiling.  “And we don’t have the faintest idea how to find him.”

Marco chews on his lower lip, still idly playing with Jean’s hair as Levi and Erwin lapse back into strategy mode, conversing in fast whispers.  “So this guy.  He’s never been to the states before?”

Jean shakes his head.

“Anyone at Oberlin actually met him in person?”

“I doubt it...he’s got a reputation for being super private.  Doesn’t like having his picutre taken, even.  Which is kinda obvious, in hindsight.  He’s only ever played one concert before this one.  In like.  Laos, I think.”

Marco nods slowly.   “How old is he?”

“Fuck, I dunno.  Mid-twenties, I think?”

“You don’t need to find him,” Marco says, and Erwin and Levi fall silent and stare at him.  “Whoever sent this email, they don’t know where he is anymore than you do.  They just know where he’s _supposed_ to be.”

“Marco,” Eren says, twisting around on the arm of the chair to peer into his boyfriend’s face.  “The last time I saw that look on your face I’d just had a wallet that wasn’t mine reverse-pickpocketed into my jacket.  What’re you thinking?”

“Marlowe Song’s never performed in the US before, right? If anyone’s even seen his _face_ it’s in pictures.  You don’t need _him_ to show up at Oberlin.  You just need _someone_ to get off a plane, speak Korean, play a piano, and get back on a plane, and Marlowe Song’s exactly where he’s supposed to be and obviously had no reason to get spooked by any weird cryptic emails.  All you _need,”_ Marco says, with a slow grin spreading across his face, “Is a twenty-three year old Asian kid who speaks Korean and has a flair for piano playing.  Any idea where you can find one of those?”

Levi and Erwin stare at him for a minute more, and then at each other.  And then all four of them turn to stare at Jean.


	10. A Place to Start

When Eren shoulders his way in through the attic door backwards, dragging the mattress off the futon in his bedroom downstairs, Jean’s only reaction is to raise his eyebrows over his C++ textbook.

“You should come down here,” Eren says, a little _too_ casually, dumping the mess of blankets currently occupying Jean’s hammock onto the mattress. (It’s a lot easier to nest with two people on the floor than in the hammock, a fact that hasn’t escaped Jean’s notice.) “Once the cookies come out of the oven I’ll come back up and we can actually build a fort or something.”

One lightning bolt grin and then he’s gone again, and Jean tilts his desk chair back on two legs and drops his book on his face with a groan. It’s the first week of April, about halfway through the spring semester of their senior year of high school, they’re both seventeen, and everything sucks.

A solid five years now they’ve been inseparable, their bond as indelible as the slowly fading slash mark across the bridge of Eren’s nose, and _now..._ now it all feels wrong. They’re both too busy - even with guaranteed acceptance to the University of Minnesota, there’s too much left for two seniors to do, they have too many classes together and Levi’s gone too much, and stuck in their rut between the house and the high school Jean and Eren have been grating on each other’s nerves like only two teenage boys can.

It’s even gotten hard to _talk_ to Eren lately, and that’s never happened before. They tell each other everything, have since Eren started teaching him the sign language alphabet in the back seat of Erwin’s car, doing ninety out of Detroit. Everything he says to Eren seems to come out wrong, or weird, or stupid, he can’t make Eren laugh like Sasha or Armin or even _Annie_ can and too often Jean’s felt himself withdrawing, pulling away from him in self defense and just watching from the sidelines, memorizing the way the sunlight falls and glows on the soft curves of Eren’s cheekbones when gives up on seventh period precalculus and rests his head on his arms, long lashes casting shadows under his eyes…

Eren slams back into Jean’s attic and Jean very nearly loses his balance goes over backwards. He manages to recover at the last possible second, but his book goes flying across the room and Eren just stares at him like he’s the biggest idiot it’s possible to imagine.

Which he is, of course.

Eren’s carrying a plate full of steaming cookies and wearing his huge soft alpaca-wool broken star blanket draped around his shoulders like a cape. Jean winces, waiting for him to laugh, or snort, or any one of the thousand things Eren could do that’ll leave him feeling like all his internal organs have contracted into one hot nauseous little lump in the pit of his stomach. But Eren just smiles slightly, picks up the fallen book and flops over into the pile of blankets on the floor. After a moment’s ringing silence, he looks up at Jean through his shaggy bangs and asks, “You comin’ down here or what?”

Jean stares at him for a long, _long_ moment, waiting for the other shoe to drop, before he slips cautiously off his chair and kneels on the edge of the mattress, still well out of Eren’s reach.

“What’s the catch?”

“Hgmph?” Eren says, around mouthful of cookie.

“You’re being _suspiciously_ nice to me today. What’s the catch.” He glances over his shoulder at the big custom desktop computer that takes up a quarter of his attic. “Am I going to be up all night purging my hard drive again, cause--”

“Jean.”

Eren’s voice is soft, and very serious, and when Jean looks back he’s set aside the cookies, and the blankets, and he’s just watching Jean carefully, with his head on one side.

“Jean...it’s April.”

“I fuckin’ _noticed_ when you had the entire ladder rigged to go off in my face on the first, you asshole--”

“April _sixth.”_ Eren’s staring at him with wide eyes, like he’s some kind of freak show, but his hands twitch out for a second, like he wanted to take Jean’s hands, (like he used to when they were tiny, tugging Jean’s clutching fingers out of his hair in the throes of a bad night and lacing their hands together, nudging his warm little nose against Jean’s sweaty cheeks until he got the shaking, screaming panic under control again) “Today’s April 6th, that mean’s tomorrow’s--”

Jean freezes solid at that, everything in his head just screeches to a halt and smashes together, tomorrow’s April 7th, tomorrow’s his _birthday,_ tomorrow’s the day the door locked behind him, tomorrow marks the start of the month of purgatory that ended in twenty minutes of bloodsoaked hell and a frantic flight out of Detroit, tomorrow marks the day he realized, _really_ realized they weren’t gonna come back, and...and--

“Jean, Jean oh no, oh _shit--”_ Eren’s hesitence breaks the second Jean’s breath hitches, and they’ve been sandpaper on each other’s nerves all year but his arms are wrapped around Jean’s neck before the tears have a chance to fall. “Jean, no don’t, it’s okay, it’s--”

“I _forgot…”_ Jean whispers into his shoulder, sagging into Eren’s warm chest. “I forgot what tomorrow was, how the _hell_ did I forget…”

“Fuck, fuck, Jean, don’t cry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I thought you remembered--” there’s a hitch in Eren’s voice already (he’s a terrible sympathetic crier, has been as long as Jean’s known him) and his hands shake a little as he lets Jean lean into him, flopping back against the pillows propped up against the wall.

They sag into a prone position amongst the blankets. Jean drops all pretense and curls into Eren’s side, and Eren lets him, holding him close while Jean’s head swirls with conflicting emotions.

He gets now why Eren’s been so nice all week, skipping martial arts and after school activities and his other friends to stay close to Jean, so weirdly watchful and attentive despite all the bickering they’ve been doing lately. In years past he’s had a pretty reliable history of sinking into a deep funk as his birthday drew near. Last April he’d barely left the attic for a week, although he knew Eren had often spent the afternoons curled up outside the locked door, listening to him play his keyboard for hours on end. For years April seventh had been nothing but a glaring reminder of everything he’d lost, everything about his murky, painful past he still didn’t know and had no way of finding out...

Until this year, when April seventh had somehow become just another day.

Jean snuffles a little, burrowing deeper into the crook of Eren’s shoulder, and Eren sighs softly and lets his arms settle over Jean’s waist, holding him gently and comfortably against his chest. “Y’okay?” he asks, one warm palm running in soothing strokes down the curve of Jean’s spine.

Jean nods against his shoulder, a little surprised himself. He is okay, he really is okay, that’s the point.

“’M happy,” he whispers against his best friend’s warm, soft skin, smiling despite the tears dripping down his chin and soaking Eren’s shirt, but Eren doesn’t doubt him.

“Yeah?” he says, and Jean feels him smile into his hair, arms tightening a little around his waist. Jean nods, shamelessly wiping his teary eyes on Eren’s shirt.

“Mhm...I think...I...gah. Words.” Eren chuckles, picking up his slow, soothing strokes down Jean’s back again as he tries to line up all the emotions tangled in his head. “I think part of me was waiting for them to come back and take me home, y’know? Take me away. And wondering what I’d done wrong to make them not come back for me...make ‘em not want me...” Eren’s breath hitches at that, and Jean continues in a rush before he can interject. “But it doesn’t matter now, I don’t think...I’m not waiting for them to come get me anymore, I’m just...” he tilts his head enough to look up into Eren’s eyes. “I’m just home. Here. And I’m, I-I-I-m--” the rest of the sentence gets lost in a huge yawn, and Eren laughs again.

“When did you go to bed last night, you moron?”

“Uhm. A time?” Jean doesn’t have to look up again to know Eren’s rolling his eyes.

“It’s Friday” Eren says, shifting his weight and gathering Jean close again. “Your coding project can wait. You need a nap.”

“I should argue,” Jean snuffles, “but I’m not gonna.”

It takes a few minutes of grumbly shifting to get themselves adjusted into a more napping-friendly position, Jean mumbling into Eren’s shirt as he tries not to get dislodged. He may be happy, ridiculously heart-twistingly happy, but that doesn’t mean he wants to stop using Eren’s warm, solid chest as a pillow.

Eren rolls onto his side a little, one arm curled loosely around Jean’s waist again, and he pulls his broken star blanket up over their tangled legs with a sleepy sigh that rustles through Jean’s hair.

It’s _incredibly_ comfortable, warm and safe and relaxing, with a cool spring breeze drifting through the window above their heads, but something’s keeping Jean from drifting off. His chest feels tight, his breaths too quick and shallow...the hem of his shirt’s pulled up a little and Eren’s warm, rough palm is resting over the sliver of exposed skin. Jean finds himself wishing he’d start stroking his back again, like he had when Jean was crying...he wants to feel Eren’s hands on him, moving against his skin without his shirt in the way, warm and real and comforting, he wants that reminder of Eren’s presence burned all across his body, everywhere he can feel his own jumping pulse fluttering under his skin…

He only meant to shift position a little, try to push the blankets off his suddenly too-warm body, but his ginger squirming has the effect of making his lower body twist against Eren’s, jolting them together for a second, no big deal...except for the way Eren’s breath seems to stop in his chest for a moment, and...there’s a sound, so low and faint Jean wouldn’t have heard it if his ear hadn’t been pressed against his chest, a soft, guttural little noise almost like a moan...Jean realizes in a rush that Eren’s not quite as asleep as he’d thought, even though his eyes are closed, and that his breathing is quick and shallow just like Jean’s, and he’s suddenly _extremely_ aware of the pressure of Eren’s thigh against him…

Slowly, hesitant and nervous, Jean curls his fingers around Eren’s forearm and tries to repeat the movement with his hips, just pushing clumsily forward and letting his own leg slip up between Eren’s. His eyes flutter shut at the pressure, Eren’s breath hitches around another inaudible little moan...and then he moves too, responding carefully, arching up into Jean and his breath’s gone completely.

Their shaky, breathless little movements begin to find a rhythm, a kind of nervous give and take, a little more fluid and a little faster. Eren flattens his palm across Jean’s back, his thumb stroking up the length of his spine and Jean gasps and squeaks into his shoulder, burying his face further into Eren’s neck and clutching at his arms, and his hips buck up harder--

Something about the sound seems to have penetrated the haze around Eren’s brain though, and his movements stutter to a halt with a faint gasp. His hands come up to brace against Jean’s shoulders.

“Jean, J-Jean, wait, _waitwatiwait--”_

“ _Nnnf._ Why.”

“J-jean, I’m _serious--”_ Eren tightens his grip, holding Jean still, and pushes him back a little so he can look up into his flushed face. “Y-you...i-is this...this is what you want? You know...w-what we’re...what’s happenin’, yeah?”

Jean’s _well_ aware of what’s happening, and he’s pretty sure that Eren is too, based on the searing line of solid heat pressing into his thigh. He’s even _more_ aware, as he looks down into Eren’s flushed face and his wide, blown-out eyes, that he doesn’t want to _stop._

“I want this,” he confirms, dropping down on his elbows so their eyes are a little closer together. “Don’t think I _realized_ it ‘til about five minutes ago, but...yeah. ‘M on board.” A sudden wave of panic hits him as Eren stares up at him, biting his lip. “And y-you are too, right? You...this, I mean...you wanna…?”

Eren rolls his eyes, but it’s not enough to hide the giant, goofy grin spreading across his face. “It’s...it’s crossed my mind a few times...you got hot, you know that?”

“ _Nah.”_ Jean blushes, flopping down across Eren’s chest so their bodies press together again, and they both gasp and shiver.

“You _are--”_

Jean groans loudly and bucks into Eren, who breaks off with a choked gasp. He whips his arms around Jean’s waist, holding him almost crushingly tight against his body, and when their rhythm builds up again this time neither one of them are stopping.

Jean’s never liked being restrained, and part of his brain is wittering that he should be scared, and part of him _is_ a little scared, but this is _Eren,_ and with Eren he’s never felt anything but safe. Well, and annoyed. But mostly safe. And safe is what he feels now, as Eren’s breath catches and his fingers twitch and slip up under the hem of Jean’s t-shirt and it’s everything his overheated teenage brain had dreamed of and _then_ some, safe and protected and…

...and _loved…_

Eren’s whimpering under him on every breath, hips starting to stutter in their rhythm and his free hand tangles in Jean’s hair, the pressure just short of pulling and it’s _perfect,_ Jean lets him tug him down ‘til their sweaty foreheads bump together and he nudges the tip of his nose against the edge of Eren’s scar. That’s as close as they get, both of them shying away from some unspoken boundary they’re still too nervous to break, Jean’s shivering breaths panting out over Eren’s parted lips as they get more and more lost in each other.

“Jean, J-jean,” Eren stutters out, the hand under Jean’s shirt clutching at his shoulder as his other hand fists tighter in his hair. “Jean, I’m g-gonna...I’m...don’t stop, _don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop...ah!”_

Jean squeaks, cheeks burning, at the sound of Eren gasping... _that,_ right in his ear, he shoves both arms unceremoniously under Eren’s torso and _clings_ to him, hiding his face in the crook of Eren’s neck again and Eren’s warm cheek presses into his hair, still gasping out Jean’s name with every shaking little sigh that leaves his lips.

“ _E-eren...”_ he whispers into his neck, and somehow Eren hears him, or maybe he just feels Jean’s lips move against his skin.

“ _That’s right, ‘sright, it’s okay...it’s okay, I’ve got you, come on, c’mon cmon cmon...”_

His strong arms wrap around Jean’s waist, clinging to him just as tight as they drive each other closer to the edge.

“Jean, fuck, c’mon...”

“ _Eren--nn!”_

It hits them both at the same time, Eren’s head falling back and his spine curving, driving his body _hard_ up into Jean’s, and Jean whines and curls in on himself, toes curling and scrabbling against Eren’s calves and his hands clenching in Eren’s shirt, fighting down the broken moan rising in his throat. A heavy shiver rips down his spine and Jean gasps thickly, biting down none too gently on the curve of Eren’s neck before he has a chance to thing about what he’s doing, but the scrape of his teeth just wring another wavering gasp out of Eren, and that _noise,_ the noise _he_ caused, that _he_ made Eren feel, only sends him higher, sparks popping behind his tight-shut eyes as he quivers apart in his best friend’s arms.

It takes them both a minute to pant their way back to reality, and then Eren says, in a very soft, distant little voice, “ _Wow.”_

“Yeah.”

Eren very carefully unclenches the fingers tangled in Jean’s hair, and pets his head gingerly. “You okay?”

“...I need to change pants.”

Eren rolls his eyes and nuzzles his nose into Jean’s thoroughly mussed hair.

“Not much for afterglow, are you?”

“Fuck afterglow. ‘m _sticky,”_ Jean grumps into his shoulder.

 

Five minutes later, they’re both comfortably re-outfitted in two pairs of Jean’s boxers because the ladder was declared too much work. Eren’s staring at a little hand-mirror and raising his eyebrows at the faint purple ring of teethmarks on his shoulder, and Jean’s torn between embarrassed guilt over the teethmarks and trying not to notice the _very_ interesting ways in which his boxers stretch over Eren’s much broader butt.

“’Ey.” Eren knocks his knee gently against Jean’s, and tosses the mirror aside and holds out his arms. “C’mere. “

Jean blushes and edges nearer nervously, swinging his legs over Eren’s thighs so he’s kneeling in front of him, not quite sitting in his lap. He bites his lip and gently traces a fingertip over the marks of his teeth on Eren’s dark skin.

“ _Hey,_ don’t look like that.” Eren’s hand covers his for a second, and then he cups it gently around the back of Jean’s neck, his wide, bright eyes searching Jean’s face. “You okay?” he asks again, resting his other hand against Jean’s cheek, thumb brushing the corner of his still-flushed lips.

Jean nods, meeting his eyes (they’re so warm, Eren’s eyes are always so _warm)_ another new, nervous desire twisting his heart, and before he has a chance to overthink it, he lurches forward and gently, awkwardly brushes his lips against Eren’s.

Eren gasps, his hands slipping to Jean’s shoulders and squeezing tight. “D-did you j-just--” he stutters, as Jean’s fingers fly to his lips, warm and tingling just from that split-second brush of a kiss.

Did _I just..._ Jean thinks vaguely. _Ohmygod I_ did _I just kissed_ Eren _ohmy_ god-- He slumps forward, hiding his face in Eren’s chest and making a noise like a slowly deflating balloon.

“Oh, Jean, Jean Jean Jean, baby, c’mon--” Eren’s hands are on him in a second, stroking soothingly through his hair and down his back, his nose nudging against Jean’s temple. “C’mon--”

“ _eeeeeeeeeee...”_

_“_ Are you gonna come out of my shirt?” Eren asks, sounding faintly amused.

“ _Huh-uh...eeeeeeee”_

Eren laughs softly and wraps his arms around Jean’s shoulders despite his awkwardly hunched position. “It’s okay, you know,” he whispers in Jean’s ear, nuzzling into the sliver of his face he can reach. “I’ve...I’ve kinda wanted to do that for awhile now...”

He trails off and Jean relaxes a little, twisting onto his side so he can rest his head on Eren’s shoulder and peer up into his face, still curled up against his chest.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eren affirms, arms snug around his waist. “J-Jean...can I...”

Jean just nods, and the way Eren’s eyes light up almost knock him clear out of his head again, before Eren’s lips press against his, warm and slow and gentle, and complete the job.

“S-so,” Jean mumbles, when they gently break apart, watching Eren run the tip of his tongue thoughtfully over his flushed lips. “You wanna do this again sometime?”

“I do,” Eren whispers, nudging his nose against Jean’s and dropping a soft little kiss at the corner of his eye, and Jean hums in surprise at the pleasant little shock that shoots down his spine. Eren grins ear to ear and repeats his new trick, dotting warm butterfly kisses across Jean’s eyelids until he’s humming and squirming bonelessly in Eren’s arms, his normally pale cheeks flushed bright, pretty pink.

“ _Good.”_ Jean hums, picking up the conversation again like Eren hadn’t just spent a few minutes rendering him incapable of thought. “’cause I--wait.” He breaks off suddenly, recalling something, and his nose wrinkles. “Wait. _Baby?”_

“You don’t like baby?”

“ _Blargh.”_

_“Fine._ Picky.” Eren pokes him in the side, oblivious to Jean’s indignant squeal as he considers. “How ‘bout...” he twists his head to look down at Jean, still curled up in his arms. “ _Angel._ My angel.”

Jean stares up at him for a long moment, eyes going wide and maybe just a _little_ teary, and then he sniffles and hides in Eren’s shoulder again.

“Like that one, huh?”

Jean hums his affirmative. “ _Mine,”_ he whispers into Eren’s skin, punctuating the word with a hesitant little brush of his lips. “You’re _mine.”_

“I know. I know I am.”

Eren leans back on his elbows amidst their blankets, gently easing Jean down with him ‘til they’re sprawled out nose to nose again, legs tangled together and arms wrapped tight around each other, and Jean nudges his nose against Eren’s with a smile that makes his heart melt in his chest.

“ _Mine,”_ he says again, and Eren just nods, pulling him in for another long, enthusiastic kiss.

The kiss that follows it is softer and lazier, the one after that just a bare brush of lips, and they’re both fast asleep within minutes.

 

* * *

 

 

“Wait, so that’s _actually_ how – that was your _first –“_

“Yup.”

“You were…by _accident?”_

_“Yup.”_

“You…oh my God.”  Marco flops onto his back amongst the pillows, hands over his eyes, and gives himself over to a wave of giggles.  “Oh my _God_ that’s so _cute.”_

“Yup,” Eren says grinning at Jean over their melty, chortling boyfriend.

“And you were more f-f-f-lustered by the _kisses_ than…than the—“ Marco reaches for Jean and tugs him into his chest, muffling his shrill giggles in the curve of his neck. “Ohmy _God.”_

“Yeah, yeah, _okay_ there giggles.” Jean does some token squirming and grumbling before he goes happily boneless, burrowing into Marco’s arms with a blissful smile.  Eren’s strong arms wrap around Marco’s waist, his fingers playing idly over what he can reach of Jean’s hair and shoulders.  Marco hums deep in his chest, relaxing into the warm, nuzzly kisses trailing over both sides of his neck. (Snuggling with Jean and Eren sometimes feels akin to being nuzzled to death by a flock of bunnies, in the best possible way.)

“Not that I’m complaining,” Marco says, after a long pause to thoroughly kiss the sharp angle of Jean’s jaw, appreciating the faint rasp of stubble against his lips, “But was your adorable little boyfriend origin-story related to why I got ambushed coming through the door today?”

Jean sits back a little, propping himself up on his elbows, and Eren goes still behind him (he’d been idly expressing his appreciation for Jean and Marco’s kisses with lazy grinds into the backs of Marco’s legs) and they exchange a _look_ over his head.  Marco looks between them, a curious smile curving his lips.  “What’d I miss?”

“Marco…” Jean says softly, starting to smile himself.  “Marco, it’s July.”

“I’m aware?”

“July _ninth?”_ Eren says, giving him a slightly incredulous look.  Marco’s still lost, and Eren snorts loudly and leans _way_ over, hanging head down off the side of Marco’s bed while he roots around for something on the floor.

“Jean, help me out here. What’s July ninth?”

“The day you almost got me _arrested.”_ Eren heaves himself back up with a grunt and something drops on Marco’s chest: his pink and white leather wallet.  Marco sits up at that, and stares from the wallet in his lap to his two grinning boyfriends, one hand coming up to cover his mouth.

“ _Oh.”_

Jean curls back into his side and presses a warm, deep kiss to the corner of Marco’s lips.  “Happy anniversary, love.”

“ _Oh.”_ Marco laughs, doing his best to pretend the sound isn’t very faintly choked.  “ _Oh._ I f-forgot…”

“You’re _definitely_ one of us.”

“Anniversary, huh?  Even though we didn’t actually…y’know…for another—“

Eren cuts him off with a hand-wave and a dismissive (flatulent) noise.  “That shit’s not important.  I mean, nice, yeah, _phenomenal,_ but not _important._ Not like today is.”

Marco blinks up at him, and Eren reaches out to catch Marco’s free hand in both of his, his thumb rubbing soft, soothing circles on the inside of Marco’s wrist, and Jean cuddles closer on his other side.

“What’s today the anniversary of, then?”

“You bein’ _here,”_ Jean says, nuzzling his nose into the soft spot behind Marco’s ear, sending a warm, pleasant shiver down his spine.  “You bein’ where you’re supposed to be.” Eren nods vigorously, squeezing Marco’s hand.

“ _Us_ being where we’re supposed to be.”


	11. One King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of explanation: this chapter is technically the newest update to Liar Liar: coat of arms, otherwise known as Where The Plot is Happening, hence the change in tense from the rest of the bits 'n bobs in this fic. However, since it's kind of tangential to the rest of the Marlowe Song Thing, and includes some major bits of Marco's backstory and the history of their romance, I'm uploading it here to fill in some of the gaps. Plz enjoy- and go check out Coat of Arms, the next fic in the series, if you haven't already!

About an hour out of Oberlin, Marco turned the car off the interstate and pulled into a little motel nestled under a towering overpass. He went inside alone, leaving Jean and Eren curled up tight in the back seat, and handed Erwin’s credit card to the sleepy girl at the desk.

“Would you like two queens or one king, Mr…Raconteur?” she asked, glancing at his driver’s license (Minnesota resident).

Marco only hesitated for a second before he replied “One king.”

He accepted a single plastic keycard in its envelope and pulled the car around to the back of the hotel, as close to the rear doors as he could get. They skulked inside like celebrities running from the paparazzi, Eren’s hood pulled up tight over his bandaged head, and all of their luggage fitting easily over Marco’s shoulder.

None of them said anything: they hadn’t since they left the hotel parking garage outside of Oberlin. It was partly out of respect for Eren, who had enough on his mind without trying to read lips. And it was partly because none of them had the faintest idea what to say.

Jean went right for the slightly dingy, fluorescent-lit bathroom, his arm curled tight around Eren’s shoulders again the second the door clicked shut behind them. He _did_ glance at Marco, just once, over Eren’s head (his thick hair tangled and dusty and still matted in places with clinging cakes of blood) and Marco just nodded, knowing they needed the time alone. As the shower turned on, the sound of the spray echoing loud in the tiny bathroom, Marco collapsed onto the bed (one king) and pulled out his laptop. He flipped it open, swearing under his breath at the slow hotel connection, and started searching, brows knit tight with concentration. He barely moved as he stared at the screen, fingers sketching out the occasional gesture, or scratching absently when the stiff patches of Eren’s blood dried on his shirt irritated his skin.

Behind the half-open bathroom door, Jean wrenched the shower up as hot as it would go. Eren had to help him out of his shirt, wide eyes going dim again as Jean’s cracked ribs protested the movement. Eren rested his fingertips against the mottled patchwork of black bruises spread across Jean’s pale chest, and let his head drop against Jean’s shoulder as Jean guided him into the water.

They spent a long time under the scalding water, silent as ever, Eren still leaning heavily against Jean. Jean, for his part, emptied the entire tiny bottle of citrus shampoo into his hands and worked it through Eren’s hair with painstaking gentleness, rubbing away every last trace of blood and dust and sweat tangled around the bandages just behind his ear.

Jean only let go of Eren long enough to scrub vigorously at his own hair with the remains of the shampoo and a flaky bar of soap, muddy black dye swirling into the water around their feet.

Eren didn’t let go of Jean at all.

Once they were both thoroughly clean, the hot water stinging on raw-scrubbed skin, Jean cupped both hands around Eren’s cheeks and nudged his face up to look at him, his back to the spray shielding their faces from the water. He’d outgrown Eren years ago, when they were still in middle school, but the movement still felt alien, making Eren look _up_ at him…he was so used to being lower than Eren, curled up against his chest or hunched over his keyboard while Eren leaned on his shoulders. And even when they were standing face to face, it was so unusual for his blunt, forthright Eren to avoid his eyes like this.

At least Eren met his eyes this time, even if it was slow, and his gaze was still distant and unfocused. Jean leaned in and kissed him, careful of the bitten splits in Eren’s lips that were blossoming into sores. Eren let himself be kissed, even if he didn’t respond, a few tears slipping from the corners of his eyes.

It was chilly, outside the steaming heat of the shower; even Eren shrugged his sleeveless blue hoodie on over his boxers, for the familiarity as much as the warmth. He left Jean rummaging for more layers and perched gingerly on the edge of the bed, just behind Marco hunched over his laptop in a very Jean-like pose. The split from Eren’s fist stood out raw against his cheekbone, dark bruises spreading out to obscure Marco’s freckles.

Marco glanced up at him, looking startled, as the bed shifted under his weight, and Eren caught a glimpse of the laptop screen. A YouTube video: “Twenty ways to say I love you with sign language.” Marco looked embarrassed.

Eren leaned over him and closed his laptop firmly. Then he pulled himself fully onto the bed and crawled into Marco’s lap, winding his arms tight around his broad shoulders and nuzzling into his neck.

Marco blinked, lips parting in surprise. Eren wasn’t a cuddler. He’d lean against them, rest his head on a chest or a shoulder, let Marco nuzzle into his hair at night or curl up around Jean and rest a book on his back, but too much restriction and he’d huff and squirm like a puppy that wanted to be set down. He felt so _small_ like this, curled up in Marco’s arms…he’d never thought of Eren as small before, delicate and vulnerable and wanting to feel protected.

Marco cupped one hand around Eren’s damp head, laying them both down amongst the stacks of starchy hotel pillows as Jean slipped out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a dye stained towel. His eyes softened at the sight of them, restless squirmy Eren snuggled close into Marco’s side and asking with every inch of his body to be held.

“Hey…hey there, beautiful,” Marco whispered, maybe more for his own benefit than Eren’s, nudging his nose against Eren’s cheek. He found Eren’s hand, resting on his side, laced their fingers together and squeezed tight and quick. Eren emerged from the crook of Marco’s shoulder, looking down curiously as Marco spread the fingers of Eren’s left hand apart. He folded two of them down, middle and ring finger, leaving Eren’s hand splayed out in the simplest sign he’d picked up in his YouTube binge: an amalgamation of the sign language letters for I, L, and Y… “I love you.”

Eren’s eyes misted over again, and his face disappeared right back into Marco’s shoulder, where he nodded vigorously. Marco chuckled softly, slipping his hands inside Eren’s unzipped hoodie and wrapping his arms tight around his middle. The big bed creaked again as Jean flopped down on Eren’s other side, pressing up against his back and reaching for both of them. His hands found Marco’s, and he laced their fingers together over Eren’s sides, the two of them holding Eren close and warm between them.

Eren did squirm, eventually, but just enough to wriggle out of his open sweatshirt, already a little too warm from being sandwiched. Marco let him go willingly, but the moment Eren’s shirt was off he curled right back into Marco’s side, shaking hands finding Marco’s arm and pulling back around his shoulders.

Marco had thought his heart couldn’t melt anymore.

“Oh Eren,” he whispered, forgetting for a moment that Eren couldn’t hear him. He curled a hand around the back of Eren’s head, buried in his shoulder, running his fingers through his damp hair. Jean shifted, leaning up enough to press a deep, lingering kiss to the corner of Marco’s mouth. Then Jean turned his attention back to Eren, trailing soft kisses behind his ears and down his neck that made him sigh and shiver in Marco’s arms.

Eren pressed closer and Marco gathered him in, his breath coming a little faster even though his eyes still stung. Jean snuggled up to kiss him again, and Marco leaned into him, an odd wave of déjà vu running through his head. Burning eyes and boys leaning on his shoulders and Eren pulling his arm around his shoulders, asking for Marco’s affection…

“ _I’m just so_ powerless,” _he’d choked out, burying his sobs in Eren’s hair, Jean’s piano still played behind the attic door against his back, and Eren sniffled against his shoulder, his arms winding tight around Marco’s waist…and on the other side of the door, Jean rested his hand on the knob, biting his lip around his own hitching breaths._

_When the door behind him snapped open, Marco overbalanced and fell nearly flat on his back, Eren tumbling down onto his chest. Marco propped himself up on bruised elbows, and Jean’s upside down glare filled his vision, his own cheeks streaked with tears and one hand still on the doorknob._

_“Don’t you_ ever _say that again,” Jean practically spat the words, fresh tears clinging to his lashes._

_“Jean—“_

_“Baby, how long were you listening?” Eren asked, pushing himself up off Marco’s chest and sitting back on his heels._

_Jean ignored him completely, dropping to his knees beside Marco and grabbing his shoulders – not gently, either._

_“Never,_ ever, _again, you hear me Marco?”_

 _“_ Jean—“ _Eren said softly, a note of warning in his voice._

_Marco felt frozen, still holding himself up on his elbows and staring into Jean’s swimming eyes. As he watched, the anger and frustration seemed to melt out of Jean’s expression, and Jean curled his fingers around Marco’s face, tugging him close ‘til their foreheads pressed together._

_“Don’t say that,” he whispered, their breath mingling in the bare space between their lips. “Don’t_ say _that…you can’t_ ever _be powerless, not when you’re with us…” Jean leaned back, searching Marco’s face, and he sounded almost desperate when he said, “Don’t you know what you_ are _to us?”_

 _Don’t you know what you are to us?_ Marco thought, running his hands in long, soothing strokes down the curve of Eren’s spine. _Don’t you know what we’d be without_ you?

His fingers stuttered over the ridges of scar tissue that crisscrossed Eren’s back, muscles shifting under soft skin, as Eren’s warm, wiry little body pressed closer to his.

 _What we’d be without you…_ Marco met Jean’s worried eyes over Eren’s shoulder. _What we’d be without you…_ self-flagellating and frightened and _fake,_ they’d just be trapped in the certainty of their own self-loathing without the endless warmth of Eren’s love to break the cycle. This warm, beautiful boy in Marco’s arms, so completely unwilling to stand aside and let anyone be hurt, no matter how many scars it left etched across his skin.

Marco let Jean guide him, when he needed to, soft whispers and careful nudges placing Marco’s gentle affection right where Eren needed it. The way Jean and Eren understood each other never failed to leave Marco with a fluttering heart.

Every few minutes, Eren would reach for Jean, running his fingers over the shallow wounds in his bare chest. And every time, Jean would catch his hands, twine their fingers together and nudge him back into Marco’s arms.

 _Reminding him,_ Marco thought.  Eren was waiting for all the bad to come back, waiting for the bullet holes he’d seen blow out Jean’s chest to return, waiting for Marco to push him away. And every time Jean reminded him silently, that his skin and his heart were still whole, that Marco’s arms still opened for him, and the tension in Eren’s body finally began to ebb away.

Marco sought out Eren’s hand and squeezed it in his, and Eren sighed softly and raised his head. He didn’t shrink away when Marco kissed him, and when he kissed back it was needy and hard, but no longer desperate or scared.

Jean hummed his approval as Marco curled his tongue between Eren’s parted lips, and Eren drew in a long, deep breath through his nose, sinking into Marco’s embrace. Marco relaxed himself, finally letting himself get lost in Eren’s kisses and Jean’s long fingers trailing through his hair.

He didn’t let it go on long, though, before he drew back gently, nuzzling Eren’s check until he looked up, blinking curiously. Marco resorted to finger-spelling, cursing his painfully rudimentary sign language.

_U O K?_

Eren’s eyes softened and he actually smiled when he nodded. Jean sat up and signed a question, speaking aloud for a grateful Marco’s benefit.

“How’s your head feel, sweetheart?” Eren replied with a complicated gesture, and it took Jean a moment to rephrase it aloud.

“ _The outside feels fine,”_ he translated with an exasperated huff.

“Aw, _Eren…”_ Marco wrapped his arms tight around Eren’s shoulders, kissing his temples around the edges of the bandages.

“What do you need?” Jean asked. Eren responded by curling back into Marco’s side and tugging Jean down with him. He twisted to kiss Jean over his shoulder, deep and firm and loving, and Jean spread his fingers warmly over Eren’s ribs. Marco dipped his head to nibble at Eren’s earlobe, smiling when he was rewarded with a heavy shiver.

When Jean consented to let him go, Eren leaned back in to find Marco’s lips, tangling their legs together and pressing in close. He cupped a hand against Marco’s cheek, thumb resting gingerly just below the bruising split. Marco covered Eren’s hand with his own. He twined their fingers together and kissed him deep and forgiving, and Eren simply melted in his arms.

Jean pressed close against Eren’s back, lavishing attention and love across his neck and shoulders. Eren gasped into Marco’s mouth, and his kisses turned clinging and just shy of desperate, hands dropping to Marco’s hips and squeezing tight. Jean slid an arm between them, running his hands in heavy strokes up Eren’s belly and his chest, playing across his collarbones before sliding down to tease the curve of his hips.

When Jean leaned up to close his lips around an earlobe, swirling his tongue across it, and when Marco smoothed his hands down Eren’s back to curl around his ass, Eren broke away from Marco’s lips and buried his face in his shoulder with a shudder.

Marco raised his eyebrows as Eren quivered against him, hips shifting, and he muffled a telltale shivering moan (the first sound he’d made since he cried in Jean’s arms the night before) against the curve of Marco’s neck.

“’m glad he’s facing you,” Jean said, using his teeth against an earlobe to wring another shiver out of his boneless boyfriend. “That sounded sticky.”

Eren grumped a loud, embarrassed grump and flopped his arms over Marco’s shoulders, hiding in his neck. Marco giggled, nuzzling the sliver of Eren’s face that he could reach.

“Hey. Hey there, Mr. Stamina,” Jean teased, nudging Eren’s chin up to sign to him. “You okay?”

Eren responded by dropping his full weight on him for a messy, boneless kiss (sharing some of the sticky between them) before he rolled out of bed and wobbled into the bathroom. A second later, the sound of water splashing drifted out. Jean and Marco exchanged a grin.

“I suppose we can’t tease him _too_ much…”

“Oh we can tease him a little.” Jean reached lazily for Marco, and Marco rolled closer to cuddle into his side, careful of his bruised ribs.

“How do _you_ feel, hm?” Marco asked, stroking Jean’s muddy, half-dyed hair. Jean just shook his head.

“Don’ worry about me. I’m not important—“

“Don’t say that…” Marco cut him off with a hand on his cheek. “Don’t ever say that, beautiful. You’ve been so incredible…” he curled his arms around Jean’s waist, dropping kisses against his eyelids. “Braver than the two of us times ten.”

Jean whined at him, cheeks pink, and pressed their lips together to prevent him from saying something else embarrassing. A few minutes later, Eren crash landed at Marco’s back, draped in Marco’s pink and teal t-shirt and looking agonizingly adorable. He flopped a heavy arm across both their waists and planted his face in the dip between Marco’s shoulder blades with a sleepy mumble. The first snore followed a moment later.

_The first time Eren and Marco shared a bed was an accident._

_It was also months before the adrenaline-fueled night in a presidential suite a few miles from a cathedral with a corruption problem. Jean chased them into Eren’s cozy basement bedroom, yelling something about branch trunking algorithms, and Marco quite simply dozed off in a ball at the foot of Eren’s futon mattress, somewhere around the second season of Hannibal._

_It was the first time he could remember sleeping through the night._

_He might have woken up once, he wasn’t sure if the jolt of panic had pushed him into consciousness or just skimmed along with the familiar nightmares...but something about the presence of another warm body, just a few feet away, soft warm breaths and Eren mumbling as he shifted, chased away the shaking sleeplessness._

_When he woke completely, it was to sun streaming in through the high, small window and one of Eren’s blankets tucked around his shoulders...and it felt like home._ Someone’s _home at least, even if he still wouldn’t let himself believe it was his._

 _After that, well...Marco made excuses. The first time was an accident, so the_  
accidents just...continued. He’d ruefully claim jetlag and cold weather to  
explain away his presence at the foot of Eren’s bed, the morning after he’d  
felt a bad night coming on.

 _He couldn’t tell if Jean noticed. Jean_ must _have noticed, he was far too quick, too sharp to miss Marco’s presence in his lover’s bedroom one night out of three. But he never said a_  
word. Some mornings Marco even though he smiled faintly, handing him a mug of  
coffee after he’d crept unobtrusively out of Eren’s room.

 _But the uncertainty built up, along with the culture shock and the homesickness and_  
the constant, gnawing fear. He couldn’t shake the inevitable feeling that he’d  
break them somehow, that if anything could drive a wedge into Jean and Eren’s  
unlabeled, easy, bone deep love it would be him.

_And he still couldn’t sleep alone, not without all the panic building up and  
swallowing him whole._

_The first week of August found him curled in on himself in Eren’s bed, biting his_  
knuckles til they bled to muffle his wracking sobs. He’d learned by then that  
Eren slept like a particularly dead log, but it seemed like he’d shifted a  
little that night. They’d started out with a comfortable space between them,  
but curling forward now left Marco with his throbbing forehead nestled in the  
dip between Eren’s shoulder blades, the warmth of his skin soothing the ache.

_He didn’t remember drifting off at last (crying himself to sleep like a fucking child) but he woke up alone, late in the morning. It was his practice on those mornings to lurk in the stairs for a few minutes, before slipping out of the basement. There was noise from the kitchen, Jean and Eren rattling around, Jean’s voice—_

_“Did Marco sleep in your room last night?”_

_“Mhm,” Eren mumbled around a mouthful of something, and Marco froze solid in the stairwell._

Here it comes, here it all comes again, you’re cheating on me he’s broken us broken it all, I hate you I never want to see you again he’s a curse he destroys everything he touches—

“ _Good.” Jean huffed, and Marco could hear him shifting restlessly, the way he did when he was trying not to get emotional. “I heard him cryin’ last night…I’d hate to think he was alone.”_

_“Yeah, he was with me. Pretended to be asleep…I didn’t wanna embarrass him, y’know?” Eren sighed. “Now I wish I’d just rolled over and hugged him.”_

_“Think he’ll tell us about it?” Jean asked._

_“When he’s ready.”_

_“Yeah.”_

_Marco stayed in the stairwell a long time, until his breathing was under control and his eyes were a little less glassy. Jean and Eren just smiled at him when he cautiously emerged. Jean glanced at his hands and slipped away upstairs as Eren started brewing more coffee. Five minutes later, Jean plonked his first aid kid down on the table, grabbed Marco’s hands, and began cleaning the bites in his fingers with exacting care._

_That night, Jean and Eren both turned up in the room Marco had inherited from Levi, with a pot of tea and a stack of movies, and the scent of baking cinnamon rolls filling the house. They made themselves comfortable on his creaky queen bed, Eren sprawled on his stomach and Jean curled up like a cat close to Marco’s side._

_“It’s getting late,” Marco said around midnight, cautious and casual. “Are you thinkin’ bed, or…?” he trailed off awkwardly, and Eren sat up and regarded him, head on one side._

_“You don’t gotta pretend, you know,” he said softly._

_“Huh? I—“_

_“I mean, if you wanna go to sleep, kick us out, no problem. But…” Eren hesitated, tugging at a strand of hair tangled around his implants. “If you want us to stay, or if you wanna come crash with me…you don’t have to pretend.”_

_“Eren…” Marco began, with no idea what he was about to say._

_“I know what it’s like to be scared to fall asleep, okay?” Eren said. “We both do.” Jean uncurled and nodded vigorously, amber eyes searching Marco’s face. “You don’t have to explain, not if you aren’t ready, but_ you don’t have to pretend.”

_Marco fell asleep between them that night, head nestled near the curve of Eren’s stomach. He knew Jean was a night owl, Jean hardly ever slept, but he’d pillowed his cheek on Marco’s thigh and grumped at him until Eren explained he wanted his head petted. And then he’d gone out like a light, smiling and purring as Marco stroked his absurdly soft hair, and Eren watched them with an expression like his heart was melting._

_A week later, Eren wandered through the kitchen and found Marco staring at a Chinese takeout menu covered in Jean’s complicated fraction algebra, tears dripping off his chin, and Marco knew he was in love._

He’d hoped that by some miracle, he’d be able to fall asleep before it all caught up to him. He’d hoped that their presence, Jean and Eren, his boys, his protectors, the loves of his life, would help to hold it all back.

In the end, it just made it worse.

Every time he shut his eyes he saw Eren’s face etched against the darkness, bloody and furious and mad with pain and al his fault. Over and over he saw Eren’s fist slam up into his cheekbone, and over and over he let the blow land.

Forgiving Eren was easy. There was nothing to forgive, just a bruise and a few drops of blood. But seeing Eren forgive _him,_ crawl into his arms and kiss his cheeks, his beautiful eyes so full of love and trust…that was hard. That _hurt,_ letting Jean and Eren kiss him with all the love he didn’t deserve.

 _I love them,_ he thought, shutting his eyes tight against the dark. _I love them, I’ll trust them, I’ll tell them when I’m ready._

 _I’ll tell them, I’ll_ tell _them, the whole thing, about the airplane and Maura and Clare and the skytracer, I’ll tell them._

_They’ll listen._

_They’ll still love me._

_I trust them._

Liar. Liar, liar, liar.

_You don’t trust them at all._

_Levi let the call be yours, and you left him in the dark. You can pretend you didn’t tell him about the vest because you didn’t think he’d ever need it, but that’s not true at all. You felt it going bad, and you lied to him anyway._

_You didn’t trust him and you let him watch Jean die, left him waiting every second for those bullets to come back. You didn’t trust him because he’s_ good, _he’s too good for a creature like you. You trusted Hitch, you let her walk away in the dark and put five bullets into both their hearts, ‘cause she’s a liar just like you._

_Those bullets are on you, you you you, this is what there is for things like you, bullets and blood and the broken bits of everything you’ve ever touched._

_Liar liar world’s on fire, your story’s as twisted as a telephone wire—_

“Marco…”

Marco’s breath stuttered, he’d been leaning into Eren’s back once more, but Eren turned in his arms, his arms wrapped tight around his neck, and he pressed his warm face into Marco’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Marco,” he whispered. His voice sounded odd without his implants, deep and raspy and a little slurred around the edges. _Don’t worry when he doesn’t talk,_ Jean had whispered to him, while Eren was in the bathroom. _He doesn’t like talking when he can’t hear himself, says it’s too weird. It’s not a big deal, he’ll just stick to ASL when he can._ But it was pitch black now, and Eren held Marco tight and whispered in his ear as Jean shifted behind him, his arms winding around Marco’s waist.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry...Marco, God, I forgot...I didn’t think what it must have been like for you.

“Eren...don’t...I’m not hurt…”

“Of _course_ you’re hurt,” Jean whispered, his voice was choked and his cheek felt wet where he leaned it into Marco’s. “ _Fuck,_ of course you are, oh Marco...you’ve been through just as much hell as we have and we didn’t even think…”

Eren couldn’t hear them, but it didn’t seem to matter; it had been years since he and Jean had needed words to talk in any case. The two of them just wrapped Marco in their arms, trailing kisses over everything they could find in the dark.

“We should’ve known,” Eren whispered, nudging his lips against Marco’s. “Got too wrapped up letting you put us back together to realize you needed to fall apart...I’m so sorry, Marco, it shouldn’t have gone like this at all.”

“You needed me…” Marco said helplessly, and he felt Jean reach around to find Eren’s hands and translate for him.

“‘Course we needed you,” Jean murmured into his neck, punctuating it with another kiss. “We _always_ need  you...God, Marco,”

 _“Don’t you know what you_ are _to us?”_

_Jean’s fingers tightened in his hair, thumbs stroking soothing circles over his temples as he stared into his eyes._

_“C’mon, Marco, sweetheart, don’t cry, please don’t cry. You’re not powerless, you can’t ever be powerless when you’re with us, we_ love _you--”_

_All three of them froze, but just for a second before Eren was nodding vigorously, sitting up to throw his arms around Marco’s neck despite the awkward angle. Jean’s eyes bugged almost comically as his brain caught up to his mouth, but he bit his lip and met Marco’s eyes squarely, refusing to back down from the word they’d never dared to use between the three of them._

_“We_ love _you, okay, we have for a long time, you’ve_ gotta _know that --_ why are you crying harder?!” _Jean cried helplessly, and Marco just buried his face in his chest and clung to him, smiling through his sobs._

_“I love you too, I love you I love you I love you so much, Jean--Eren--”_

_“I love you, Marco,” Eren whispered in his ear, leaning over his shoulder to kiss the corner of his mouth, and Marco shivered between them. “I love you._ We _love you.”_

 _“_ You’re ours, and we’ll never stop loving you.”

Marco turned in their one king bed, reaching behind him to kiss Jean over his shoulder, pulling Eren closer to his chest. “I love you.”

_I love them. (liar) I trust them. (liar) I’ll tell them one day. I’ll tell them when I’m ready. (liar)_

_They’ll still love me._

_They’ll still love me, they’ll still love me, they’ll still—_

_(liar)_

  
  
  



	12. Paradigm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter: Eren and Jean are struck by the need to try something new. Marco is delighted to help. Eren gets the foundations of his world rocked a little, and Jean learns some new things about himself. Via a whooooooole lotta sex.
> 
> Written as a birthday present for Hachidorikun, whose birthday was two months ago.

After the cathedral job, which they’d come to think of as _The_ Job, and the subsequent night in the hotel, which likewise became _That_ Night, there was just one thing they’d promised each other, sworn up and down in the steamy warmth of the shower and whispered between lazy kisses snuggled up in the plushy king sized bed.

It wasn’t gonna be weird tomorrow.

And, mostly, it really hadn’t been. Marco woke up with Jean curled up under one arm, nose nuzzled into the center of his chest, and Eren spooned right up against his back and grinding some _truly_ impressive morning wood into his thigh, and they almost missed checkout before Jean’s eyes fluttered open enough during a bout of neck kissing to catch the clock.

It took some adjusting, of course. Jean and Eren had always been low key and respectful about the PDA around Marco, so there was some learning to do, understanding the slightly odd dynamics of their warm, fluffy bond. Fortunately, they were more than willing to educate him. A few experiments, a few adjustments, a few horrendously awkward mishaps that ended in piles of flustered giggling, and Marco found himself happily ensconced in their weird, simple, outrageously loving way of doing things.

There’s still some surprises, though.

“Wait, _never?_ ” Marco asked, leaning up so he could see Eren’s face in the dim sunset light. “ _Seriously_ never?”

“Seriously never,” Eren shrugged, leaning back against the outer wall of the house and letting his legs settle more firmly over Marco’s lap. “Never been much of a bottom.”

“ _Huh.”_ Marco leaned back himself, trailing his fingers idly over Eren’s bare calves. They’d been watching the sunset from the porch roof outside the attic window, Eren’s sketchpad and Marco’s book now abandoned beside them on the shingles. “Ever wanted to try it? I mean,” he tipped Eren a slow grin that made spots of color bloom on his cheeks, “you sure love it when I finger you.”

“’s not that, exactly…uh…” Eren squirmed, his blush deepening, and Marco sat back, letting the smile slip off his face.

“No pressure, love.”

“No, no, I know.” Eren ran a hand down his face, waving the other in the air reassuringly. “I _did_ try it once, back in college…not with Jean, with another guy…I fooled around, you know…”

“Sure.” Marco rested a comforting hand on Eren’s knee, watching his face. He knew their relationship was comfortably open in the early days, so that’s not what had Eren so turned in on himself with embarrassment. “Didn’t like it?”

“It…didn’t go well,” Eren mumbled. “Neither one of us really knew what we were doing, and I…y’know…it’s hard for me to tell what’s okay and what’s too much, right? Jean ended up takin’ me to the emergency room…”

Marco winced. “Aw, Eren, I’m sorry…”

Eren shrugged again. “They pretty much sent me home with an ice pack and a lecture, but it scared Jean _so_ bad, and I was pretty freaked too…even when we _do_ go all the way, y’know, butt stuff, he wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole. And _he’s_ gotta be in a pretty rare mood for that stuff, so we…just kinda stuck to handjobs and makin’ out and grinding.”

He picked at a loose splinter on the roof by his thigh, looking miserable, and Marco looped an arm around his shoulders for a loose hug. “Thanks for tellin’ me, love.” Eren sighed and leaned into him, snugging his knees up against Marco’s chest.

“Romantic sunset whispers, huh?” he laughed softly. Marco chuckled and tickled the backs of Eren’s knees, just to make him squeak and squirm.

“It’s good to know. I still got a lot to learn about you duffas.”

“’s kind of the open secret,” Eren said softly. “I love him, _God_ I do, but sex-wise…” he squirmed for a minute under Marco’s arm. “We don’t match so well. He’s so shy about it, and he doesn’t like…doesn’t like _intense_ shit. I can’t lose it with him, like I…”

“Like you can with me?” Marco grinned, happy memories dancing in his head of Eren growling in desperation and pounding into him, back arched tight and his powerful muscles flexing, gripping Marco’s hips tight enough to bruise…

Eren replied with an embarrassed mumble, and Marco laughed. “Baby, I _loved_ every second of it, you don’t have to apologize to _me.”_

“I’m just _physical,”_ Eren said with a sigh. “I don’t mind compromising, I got my wild stuff out in college. Like, it was _fun,_ for a while, new person every night, try something different every time…I slept with a few girls, too…experimenting, y’know? But after a couple years, it was like…I could go out and meet someone new and do the whole live life to the fullest thing and try something I’ve never tried before…or I could go put on my sweater watch a movie and draw with Jean asleep in my lap, and eventually he’d wake up enough and do that thing where he kind of crawls up your chest to kiss you even though he’s still half asleep…it just kind of stopped being a contest. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” Marco hummed with a soft smile, nuzzling a kiss into Eren’s hair.

Marco found his thoughts drifting, as Eren nestled his head comfortably on his shoulder and picked up his sketchpad again. Jean slipping out of the shower to grab more towels, in The Hotel, on The Night…and Eren had flung his arms around Marco’s shoulders and squeezed him tight, whispering in his ear, _thank you, thank you thank you thank you, I’ve_ never _seen him relax like that, thank you for doing that for him…_ and a few things make a little more sense now.

“Plus now we got _you,”_ Eren said suddenly, voice lighter. “I got someone I can fuck through a wall occasionally, and he’s got someone to cuddle with all night…” he tipped his head back and planted a ridiculous sort of upside-down kiss on the underside of Marco’s jaw. “We got lucky.”

“What’d we get lucky about?” Jean asked, scrambling through the window with a couple blankets bundled up under his arm.

“Marco,” Eren said simply, and Marco blushed and tickled his knees again.

Jean’s sharp eyes flicked over them both, taking in Marco’s protective arm still settled over Eren’s shoulders, and the way Eren was sort of curled up into his side, and smiled softly. He padded across the roof and made himself comfortable on Eren’s other side, bracing an arm behind his waist and ducking down to kiss the top of his ear. Eren turned his head to catch Jean’s lips in a heavy kiss, and Marco was quick to notice Jean’s eyebrows shoot up at the heat behind it. Looks like he’s not the only one who’s been thinking…

“Hey, Eren,” Marco said thoughtfully, when Eren pulled back from a slightly dazed-looking Jean. “D’you _want_ Jean to fuck you?”

They both stared at him, Jean’s mouth dropping open around an embarrassed squeak…but Eren’s eyes turned dark before Marco finished uttering the suggestion.

“It’s…I’ve never…” Jean’s hands wound up curled around Eren’s upper arms, rubbing them half-consciously. “H-he can’t really tell me when he’s ready, and _I_ don’t have much of an idea of what it feels like, s-so—“

“Yeah, but _I_ do,” Marco said, and they both stared at him all over again, wide-eyed in the fading light. Then Eren made a noise Marco had never heard from him before – a soft, needy little _whimper,_ and he leaned up to kiss Jean again, toppling over the line from heated to downright lustful.

“You like that idea, huh?” Jean asked when they finally broke apart, his voice breathless and just a bit amused. His long fingers curled around the back of Eren’s head, thumbs resting comfortingly against his cheeks. Eren nodded, slowly, leaning into Jean’s hands, staring up at him through his lashes with hot, melted eyes.

“I’ve…it’s been on my mind,” he murmured. “Ever since, you…you ‘n Marco…”

“Ever since he ambushed me comin’ through the door and demanded a tutorial on topping?” Marco said, with a giant grin. He was bright pink under his freckles too, every bit as breathless from their kisses.

“You coulda _asked,”_ Jean huffed, running the pad of his thumb over the soft curve of Eren’s lower lip.

“I didn’t wanna push it,” he mumbled, squirming like a restless puppy against Jean’s gentle touch. “Didn’t want you to feel like you might hurt me…”

“He won’t,” Marco said, firm and gently confident. “I won’t let that happen.”

Jean cast him a look of pure gratitude, rubbing at Eren’s tense shoulders as Eren leaned into him. “What do you think, hm?” He asks Eren, nudging his nose against his temple.

“ _M’angel,”_ Eren whispered, ducking his head against Jean’s shoulder. Jean shivered, both from the intimacy of the rare pet name and the hot, lingering kisses trailing across his collarbone.

“What do you say we move this back inside, bright eyes?” Jean asked, running his fingers through Eren’s hair again.

Eren practically ran Marco over scrambling back through the open window. Jean paused for a second, scraping slightly shaky fingers through his own bangs, and gave Marco a rueful grin that didn’t quite cover his nerves.

Marco caught his restless fingers and tugged him close for a hug. “You sure too?” he asked, and Jean smiled and gave him a quick kiss, the heat and hunger against Marco’s lips doing as much to reassure him as Jean’s nod.

“I’m sure. I trust you and…’nd I’ve been thinkin’ about it too.” He finished in a rush, flushing darker. Marco kissed him again, longer and deeper, and they followed an impatient Eren through the window.

Eren already knelt on Jean’s futon mattress on the floor, rearranging Jean’s customary nest into something more accommodating. Jean ruffled his hair in passing and dove into his closet, digging into a box on the upper shelf and maybe arching his back a little more than he needed to.

Marco stretched out beside Eren, rolling onto his stomach to appreciate the view of Jean's gracefully arched spine, before Eren’s needy fingers found their way to his shoulders. Marco leaned up for his eager kisses, chuckling against his soft lips as Eren tugged off Marco’s shirt, and then his own, with an impatient grumble.

“ _Hey_ there,” Marco murmured, pressing his palms to Eren’s cheeks and kissing him slow and gentle. “Easy, pretty boy, we’ve got plenty of time.”

Eren huffed into his face, but he still let Marco’s gentle hands sooth him, some of the anxious, frantic tension leached away between long, careful kisses.

The mattress dipped as Jean came to kneel by Eren’s head, his slim, tapered fingers tangling in his hair. Eren rolled his head to the side, smiling up at him...and his eyelashes fluttered with shock as he muffled a disbelieving groan in Marco’s mouth.

Marco grinned at the way Eren’s fingers tightened on his waist, the pressure deliciously just shy of painful. The picture Jean made, kneeling behind Eren, had Marco’s heart skipping a beat too. Jean had unzipped his hoodie (made of soft, lightweight cotton that clung to his slim figure) halfway down his chest, the open neck making a frame for the wide black band of leather circling his throat.

Marco reached out and ran his thumb along the soft leather collar, slipping over the slim silver bands that marked its length. “I _knew_ you’d like it,” he murmured, and Jean grinned widely, raising his eyebrows. Marco had picked up the soft, suede-lined choker at a thrift store and given it to Jean on a whim, a few months ago. Jean had required twenty minutes to glare suspiciously at himself in a mirror, and since then the collar tended to make an appearance on the rare occasions that Jean was in...a certain mood.

Eren shivered against Marco’s chest, nipping hard at his jaw a few times, and then he turned and almost _tackled_ Jean, hands shaking with barely held restraint. Jean met him with enthusiasm, arms looping around Eren’s muscled torso to pull him close as he tilted his head, deepening their kisses. Like Marco, he was slow, patient, easing Eren’s frenetic adrenaline with long, warm kisses, fingertips rubbing gentle little circles over the small of his back.

“You sure?” Eren asked again, pushing himself up on his elbows to give his skinny boyfriend room to breathe. Jean nodded, pulling his glasses off and tossing them somewhere safe before he met Eren’s eyes firmly.

“’m sure. Can’t promise I won’t change my mind, but...I wanna try. I’m curious, aren’t you?”

Eren let out a long, shaky breath, cupping one broad palm against Jean’s face. “You got no idea, angel.”

He slipped two fingers around the back of Jean’s neck and tugged gently at his collar, and Jean hummed, almost _purring_ as he tilted his head back, arching his pretty neck at the pleasant pressure. He seemed to respond with his whole body, a long, sensuous shiver running through his muscles, down his chest and belly and through his legs, everywhere his body pressed against Eren’s. His eyes flicked open, a little fuzzy with desire, but not too fuzzy to prevent him from leaning up and kissing the tip of Eren’s nose. The deep, heated tension evaporated on a wave of giggles.

“Wh-wh-where do you want me?” Eren asked, between jerks and squeals as Jean dug narrow fingers into his ribs, grinning.

“Hn. Dunno...what’s best for a first time, Marco? Marco?”

Marco blinked. He’d thought his boys had forgotten he was still there. Hell, with that show going on a foot from his face, _he’d_ practically forgotten he was still there. But Jean and Eren were both looking at him now, flushed faces open and warm and so _trusting_ his heart did a couple backflips between beats.

“Hm.” Marco tried to force his fuzzy brain to think, biting his lip to ground himself out a little. “O-on your knees, or your stomach, that’s probably the least strain, but...” He hesitated, exchanging a glance with Eren. Jean _hated_ being on his knees...too possessive, he said. Too much thrust and not enough snuggle.

Jean chewed the inside of his cheek, hands still running in lazy strokes over Eren’s back. “What do you think...on your belly? Is...is that okay? It’d be comfy, probably...”

“Whatever you want, love. Whatever you’re okay with.” Eren propped all his weight on one elbow, gently brushing Jean’s bangs back, and Jean reached up to catch his hand.

“I want whatever’s safest.”

They both looked to Marco again.

They wanted _him_ to make the decision, and the realization sent a little thrill shooting down Marco’s spine, intense enough to make his hips twitch against the empty air.

“Stay where you are, Eren,” he said decisively, pushing himself up on his knees and reaching for Jean’s bottom desk drawer. “Jean, you can handle him on top of you for a while, right?”

“s’long as he gives me a chance to _breath_ occasionally,” Jean grumbled, digging his fingers into Eren’s sides again.

Marco rolled his eyes, giving Eren’s ass a loving rub in passing as he rooted around for the lube. “Take your pants off already.”

He hadn’t really _meant_ it to come out as an order, but it sort of sounded that way. Eren’s eyes went wide, and then his eyelashes fluttered heavily again and he scrambled eagerly out of the rest of his clothes. Marco grinned, that heavy thrill running down his spine again. Almost a year shared between the three of them, and _still_ discovering new things every day.

“You like that, Jean?” he asked, in the same half teasing, half commanding tone.

Jean nodded, but his eyes flicked away, the loving smile slipping off his face, and he went limp and still under Eren. Marco backtracked in a hurry.

“No?” he asked. Eren sat up instantly, giving Jean room to breathe. Jean shook his head, sitting up halfway himself, shoulders hunched.

“Don’t like the...orders...too scary,” he mumbled.

“Okay.” Marco dropped the teasing tone from his voice. He stayed where he was, but held out his arms, and after a moment Jean scooted over and snuggled against his chest with a happy sigh. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“S’okay,” Jean whispered, nuzzling Marco’s shoulder. “You didn’t know. I mean, we _need_ your advice, but when it comes out like that...’s too much for me. ” Eren leaned on Marco’s other side, ruffling Jean’s hair, and Marco shot him a grin.

“ _You_ liked it, didn’t you?”

Eren blushed. “If Jean doesn’t, though--”

“I think I’m okay with it if it’s _you,”_ Jean said, emerging from Marco’s shoulder with a grin. “You can take it.”

“You sure?” Marco hugged him close, nuzzling into his hair. “Tell us if you change your mind.”

Jean nodded, and leaned up to kiss Marco’s lips, soft and grateful. “I love you,” he whispered, twining his arms around Marco’s neck.

Eren leaned over to add a few nuzzly kisses of his own. “ _We_ love you.” He nudged his nose against Marco’s, and then pulled him into a long, clinging kiss, teeth nipping at Marco’s lower lip and their tongues tangled together. Half squished between them, Jean hummed his approval.

Marco dragged his fingers down Eren’s sides in languorous trails, taking his time, appreciating all the soft dips and contours and the ragged skips of the scars that formed his boyfriend’s muscled body. Eren squirmed in his arms, trying and failing to rein in his impatience, and Jean slipped behind him and wrapped his arms soothingly around Eren’s waist, nuzzling his hair.

“Marco, M-marco, come on, _c’mon ,_ I know how _this_ part goes--”

“Aw but you make such _cute_ noises,” Marco grinned, pecking the tip of his nose. “I like you with your brain dripping out your ears.”

“There’s more’n _that_ dripping, come _on...”_

 _“Gross,”_ Jean commented to the air, flicking Eren’s ear.

Marco snorted loudly, reaching awkwardly over Jean and patting around on the mattress ‘til his fingers located the lube. “You stayin’ up there?” he asked Jean, spreading it over two fingers.

“Mmm.” Jean hummed warmly, curling around Eren and tucking up his legs. “ _Like_ this view.” He nuzzled his nose into the soft curls behind Eren’s ears, and Eren responded with a rapturous sigh, relaxing back against his chest.

“Mhm, that’s right, bright eyes,” Marco murmured, smoothing his clean hand warm and soothing up and down Eren’s thigh. “Just relax, that’s it.”

Jean smiled into the curve of Eren’s neck, trailing his hands down Eren’s sides until his hands found Marco’s and he laced their fingers together over Eren’s ticking skin. Marco smiled up at him, eyes softening at the way Eren melted into Jean’s arms, head falling back over his shoulder.

“Nice ‘n easy, beautiful,” he whispered, easing Eren’s knee back against his chest.

Eren sighed, tipping his head back to mouth along Jean’s jaw with a soft chuckle. Marco took his time, kissing his way langourously along Eren’s hitched-up leg, stroking and petting with his free hand, making sure Eren shivered for both of them where he lay cradled against Jean’s chest.

He worked the first finger in slowly, smile slipping slightly as he concentrated, curling his knuckles against the easing tension around him. Eren hummed, hand flying down to join Jean’s and Marco’s over his knee.

“Good?” Jean asked, tipping Eren’s chin back with a finger and smiling down at him.

“ _Mmm,_ g-good, J-jean, _Marco,_ feels _good...”_

Jean kissed him deeply as Marco scooted closer and trailed his lips along the ridges of Eren’s hipbones. Eren shuddered, twisting his torso to bury his fingers in Jean’s hair. His spine arched tight, and then re relaxed, boneless between them.

“ _Good_ boy,” Marco hummed, the smile back in his voice. Eren rolled his eyes and jabbed a toe into Marco’s side, and Marco chuckled. “Okay, too much. Deep breath, baby...” He pressed a kiss to the inside of Eren’s knee and eased a second finger in beside the first, curling and spreading them carefully.

“Hey, Jean, sweetheart, come down here.”

Eren gathered enough presence of mind to pout as Jean gave him a parting kiss, until another curl of Marco’s fingers knocked him brainless again. Jean eased him down to the mattress and slipped down to join Marco, kneeling between Eren’s knees. Eren caught his weight on an elbow, propping himself up so he could watch.

“You ever done this before?” Marco asked, working his fingers gently in and out of Eren’s heat. Jean shook his head, biting his lip, and Marco leaned over to press a warm kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“S’okay to be nervous, love,” he whispered. “C’mere.” He slipped his fingers free and caught JEan’s hand, squirting a generous helping of lube over his fingers. Eren sighed and whined at the loss, reaching down to slip his shaky fingers through Jean’s hair.

“Just like I showed you, yeh?”Marco said. “Take it nice ‘n easy, he’ll love it.” He nudged the soft tip of his nose into Jean’s cheekbone, slipping a hand gently along the back of Jean’s neck. “You _both_ will.”

Jean missed most of his loving reassurance, due to the fact that Marco had neglected to wipe the lube off the hand he’d just trailed tenderly through Jean’s hair.

“Er. Sorry?” he appended, as Jean wiped the goo off the back of his neck and held up his hand with a _look._ “Listen, you’re about to stick your fingers up there _anyway--”_

Jean grumped and flopped full length across Marco’s chest, smearing his thumb messily across his forehead. “ _Simbaaaaaaaa.”_

“Ohmy _god_ you _nerd!”_ Marco giggled, wrangling his squirming boyfriend into a hug.

“And yet. _Somehow._ I still want you to fuck me,” Eren remarked to the ceiling. He levered himself up with a groan and lopped a leg around Jean’s waist tugging him back into kissing range. “C’mere, you.”

He wrapped both arms firmly around Jean’s neck and planted a _serious_ kiss on his mouth. Jean purred, smiling into the kiss as he parted his lips for Eren’s tongue. Eren cupped his calloused palms around Jean’s face, stroking his thumb along his jaw and scritching his fingertips behind his ears.

“Are we doin’ this, angel?” he whispered when they broke apart, his thumb brushing the corner of Jean’s hazy eye.

“ _Baaa--b-bien sur,”_ Jean stuttered, sagging against him. Eren smiled his best sunshine smile, tongue caught between his teeth.

“Ohmygod you smooched ‘im inta french,” Marco giggled. He stretched up to wrap his arms around Jean’s waist.

“ _La ferme--_ uh, shut it...” Jean flushed to the tips of his ears, even as he turned to let Marco kiss him too.

“C’mon, Jean,” Eren whispered. “He settled back on the mattress again, Jean’s hand caught tight in his. “C’mon pretty boy, c’mon, I want this.”

“Finally gettin’ romantic on me, Jaeger?” Jean grinned up at him, taking the lube Marco handed him. Marco kissed his temple before settling beside Eren, curling his long fingers gently around his flagging arousal. Eren shivered with a happy sigh, tilting his hips up into the loose circle of Marco’s fingers.

“Pull your knee up again,” Marco murmured, close to Eren’s ear, and his heart jumped at the way Eren hastened to obey the gentle order. He flicked his eyes down to Jean, who was carefully spreading lue over his knuckles. “You ready too, love?”

Just a hint of nervousness glinted in Jean’s eyes, before he nodded decisively, rubbing his dry hand over Eren’s belly.

“Deep breath,” Marco smiled, kissing Eren’s ear in reward as he relaxed. Eren drew in a long, slow breath, and Jean kissed the inside of his knee as he eased his fingers inside.

 _Nice ‘n easy,_ Jean thought to himself, and did his best to follow Marco’s advice, working his slim fingers slowly in and out of Eren’s heat. He shivered at the feeling, lips parted as Eren arched his back, squeezing around him.

“How’s it feel?” he whispered, carefully working his fingers in all the way to the last knuckle.

Eren’s lips curved in a dreamy smile, and he let his head fall against Marco’s shoulder. “ _Lovely...”_ Jean spread his fingers a little, and he hummed, hips twitching back into the easy rhythm.

“Try scissoring your fingers a little more...like this...” Marco demonstrated, and Jean nodded, his expression adorably determined as he mimicked the motion.

“J-Jean, _ahh!”_ Eren’s neck arched on a harsh gasp, but he was laughing breathlessly before Jean had a chance to be worried. “Jean, baby, that feels so good, c’mere--”

Jean blushed again. After a few awkward false starts, he managed to squirm up the futon mattress and stretch out at Eren’s side, hand still buried deep between his thighs.

“How’s it feel for _you,_ eh?” Marco asked, running his hand through Jean’s hair with a gentle smile.

“N-nice,” Jean stuttered. “Different... _warm...”_ he spread his fingers again, watching Eren squirm at the feeling. “He keeps squeezin’ my fingers...”

“I _like_ your fingers,” Eren said fuzzily, reaching up to tug Jean into a kiss. “And your lips, ‘n your eyes ‘n your cheeks ‘n your--” he shifted position, rubbing his thigh firmly up between Jean’s legs, making him gasp and rock forward into the friction.

“Ah, the rare schmoopy Eren makes an appearance.” Marco kissed Eren deeply, his hair tickling Jean’s cheeks, and palmed himself through his extremely tented pants. “Not too much stretch?”

Eren shook his head, boneless and happy as he watched Jean grind breathlessly along his thigh, fingers still clinging to their deep rhythm.

“Curl your fingers up a little,” Marco whispered, reaching over Eren to run his thumb tenderly along Jean’s jaw. “Kinda like you’re trying to touch his belly button from the inside…”

“O-okay. Weird mental image, but okay…” Jean nuzzled Eren’s collarbone as Eren squirmed eagerly under him. He curled his long fingers up, slow and delicate, stroking the pads gingerly along Eren’s inner wall.

“Little lower…” Eren gasped, clutching at Jean’s shoulders. “ _Little_ lower-- _ahn! Fuck, right there,_ Jean, _right there--”_

The desperate _edge_ in Eren’s voice, the sting of his clutching fingers and Marco’s strangled moan knocked Jean half out of his head, breath rushing out in a ragged gasp as Eren’s spine arched, pushing their bodies tight together. Jean buried his face in Eren’s neck and clung to him, felt Eren’s arms wrap around his waist, and the familiarity grounded him a little, pulling both of them back from the breathless high they’d been riding. He felt like a teenager again, nervous and overwhelmed and high on adrenaline, Eren’s warm, familiar scent flooding his nose with every shaky breath.

“I’m thinkin’ he’s ready.” Jean looked up at the sound of Marco’s voice: he’d stretched himself out beside the two of them, supporting his head on a palm, eyes devouring the way Eren’s hips bucked and shifted for more of Jean’s fingers. “Is it easy to spread your fingers now? Not too much resistance?”

Jean blinked fuzzily, and then shook his head. It was hard to focus on the way his fingers moved... _inside_ Eren, _f-fuck..._ without losing his train of thought. And once again, just for a second, he was tossed back into his fizzing eighteen-year-old brain, knocked sideways by the realization of just how _badly_ he wanted something he’d barely considered a possibility before today.

Eren whined piteously when Jean slipped his fingers out, and Jean and Marco both chuckled at him. His eyes fluttered open, distant and hazy, and then he pouted impressively at both of them. “Don’ laugh...feels _good...”_

“I _bet_ it does,” Marco said, still chortling as he gathered his floppy boyfriend off the mattress. Eren grumped loudly and flopped his arms around Marco’s neck, pulling him into a hard, biting kiss.

Jean scooted away from the sudden wrestling with an eyeroll, and picked up one of the condoms Marco had deposited by the pillow. The wrapper was different than the ones he was used to...he flipped the packet over, and then quirked an eyebrow at Marco.

“This expires next month.”

“S-so? _Yeepf!”_ Marco barely squeaked out the word as Eren renewed his attack on his neck. “Still safe.”

“It’s _my size,”_ Jean said, torn between exasperation and amusement. “You’ve been sitting on a stock of condoms in exactly my size for...what, months?”

“Don’t miss much, do you, darlin’?” Marco said softly. He smiled, but something flickered deep in his eyes, so fleeting Jean was barely sure he’d seen it. He might’ve asked, but Eren was tugging him closer, blunt tips of his fingers slipping under the waist of Jean’s pants as he muttered about too much _thinking._

Something about Eren’s insistent hands brought the light back to Marco’s eyes. He snagged Eren around the waist, murmuring in his ear as he attempted to wrangle Eren’s strong, squirmy body down onto the mattress. Eren’s lashes fluttered as Marco punctuated a sentence with a brush of lips against his ear, and Jean realized he must be giving Eren orders again.

Jean took advantage of the brief moment of relative peace to give the condom packet in his hand another long, suspicious stare. Then he dropped it to the bed with a shrug and shimmied out of his pants, shivering at the sting of cold air on his sensitive skin.

Marco finally succeeded in smushing Eren into the mattress, giggling triumphantly at Eren’s indignant squawk. He nudged Eren’s hips with a knee and wedged a pillow under him for maximum comfort, and Jean’s lingering nerves were entirely overwhelmed by watching the way Eren squirmed eagerly, grinning up at them with his tongue caught between his teeth.

“Hey, you.” Marco held out an arm to Jean and let him scoot close, leaning into his comforting warmth. “Still all good in there?” He tapped his knuckles gently against Jean’s temple.

Jean nodded with a smile, and then shivered deeply as Marco’s fingers ran gently up the length of his cock. “Just...d-d-distracted...” he hummed, hips bucking into the gentle touch. Marco grinned and tugged gently on Jean’s collar, wringing another hum out of him -- he’d practically forgotten he was wearing the thing.

Marco picked up the abandoned condom and rolled it on for him, kissing his cheeks and his eyelids the whole time, his touch firm and soothing. “Just take it slow and don’t worry, beautiful,” he whispered, nuzzling his nose into Jean’s hair.

Jean’s eyes fluttered open, and he found Eren gazing up at him from his place sprawled across the mattress, his eyes glittering with anticipation. He kissed Marco one last time and settled himself between Eren’s thighs, considering the unfamiliar position. It was different, and a little weird...but you _really_ couldn’t complain about the view, he reflected. He’d always loved Eren’s powerful back muscles, and running his hands over his boyfriend’s shoulders felt natural, familiar, like he was rubbing the tension out of Eren’s muscles after a day of training...it felt like a starting point.

It also gave Jean the confidence to take his time. He knew how to do this, he knew how to make Eren feel good, knew where a gentle touch of his fingertips would be all it took to make Eren shiver and sigh under him. And now all Eren’s gentle sighs had an edge of urgency, and his hips rolled as Jean worked his hands lower, running them over Eren’s skin in long, firm strokes.

“Nnn, _Jean..._ who knew you’d be such a tease?” Eren looked back at him over his shoulder, eyes glassy and blown out and voice rough. He glanced down at Jean’s slim cock, standing hard and straight against his belly. “How’re you not _dying,_ seriously?”

Jean blinked at him in surprise, and then glanced down himself, aware of the ache or arousal in his gut he’d barely noticed. “W-wasn’t really payin’ attention, I guess...”

Marco and Eren exchanged a wide-eyed look as Jean blinked hazily between them. Eren swallowed hard, scraping his bangs off his face with a shaky hand. “W-we’ve created a monster.” Marco just grinned.

“C’mon, angel...I’m gonna pop if you keep that up, feels too good.” He looked up at Jean with wide eyes, hitching up onto his knees a little more, and spread the fingers of one hand invitingly.

Jean swallowed heavily and took Eren’s unspoken invitation, leaning over him and catching his weight on one hand while he laced the other tight with Eren’s. The motion made left his dick rubbing firmly against the backs of Eren’s thighs, and they both gasped and the feeling, Jean letting his forehead drop against Eren’s shoulder.

He took a long moment to be sure of his balance before gingerly picking up his free hand and bringing it to the base of his cock, doing his best to steady himself.

“T-take a d-deep breath...” he did his best to mimic the way Marco always said that, gentle and confident and teasing all at the same time, and he was pretty certain it didn’t work at _all._ Still, Eren drew in a long, slow breath between parted lips, and Jean took a shaky breath of his own and guided the head of his cock inside.

It took a little more pressure than you might expect, he remembered that from his experimental go-round with Marco. He bit his lip, feeling Eren’s shoulders shake against his skin as he eased in the first impossibly tight, _hot_ inch, so much heat... _Eren’s_ heat, all around him holding him tight and urging him on and Jean was suddenly fighting the urge to _thrust,_ deep and fast as he could--

If Jean’s mind was half-blown from the feeling, it was _nothing_ compared to the white heat blanketing Eren’s spinning head. He’d never felt anything like this, even the familiar sensation of being fingered didn’t compare, not to the slow, aching stretch, not to the feeling of Jean gasping against his ear, to the way he shivered and trembled...his beautiful, delicate Jean pushing himself so far for his sake, fighting to hold back. He half-heard Marco curse raggedly, somewhere above him, and then he took a cue from Jean, running his hands over Eren’s shoulders and up and down his neck in firm, warm strokes.

He wanted Jean to move, _needed_ him to move, needed more of that warm, deep pressure, but Jean seemed determined to keep it slow, rocking into him a gentle inch at a time. “ _Jean...”_ he whispered, it took a few tries to get the name out, remembering how his lips worked... “Jean, c’mon baby, more...”

Jean looked up at Marco, biting his lip again, and Marco ran his hands down to Eren’s lower back and nodded, feeling the relaxation deep through his muscles. “He’s okay, he’s ready for you...” Jean shivered, and Marco reached out to give his collar another gentle tug, brushing a heated kiss against his lips. Jean moaned, melting against him...and then he braced himself over Eren again and started to move.

Eren’s head fell back with a shuddering groan, his forehead resting against the angle of Jean’s jaw as Jean picked up his pace, pulling back carefully before he leaned back in with a little more force. Eren arched his back, gasping, tilted his head to mouth along whatever his lips could reach, twisting his neck almost too far...

Jean managed to shift his weight to one arm again and run his other hand up Eren’s heaving chest, over his throat, gently easing his head back around. Marco caught Eren’s jaw in one broad palm and pulled him into a hungry, biting kiss, and Eren just _fell_ into it, pouring all his desperate, pent up desire into the feeling of Marco’s lips on his. Jean whimpered, the sound and the sensations overwhelming his usual silence. He wrapped an arm tighter around Eren’s waist, pulling him up against his chest, and drove in harder, losing himself completely even as his arm started to shake and his knees started to ache from the strain of holding himself up.

“ _E-eren...”_ he whispered, voice half-strangled, and Eren and Marco broke apart to listen; if Jean making sounds was rare, Jean actually _talking_ was even rarer. “Eren, _God_ you feel so good...a-are you okay, does it feel...Eren, is th-this--”

“’s incredible, baby, it’s amazing... _you’re_ amazing...J-jean, Jeanjeanjean, I _l-love you, angel--ahn!”_ Eren’s words bled off into a loud moan as Jean bucked deep into him, fingers scrabbling at the mattress. He lost his balance and sprawled across Eren’s back, burying his face deep in the crook of his shoulder. Eren felt him trembling, hard, muffling a jumbled string of French and Korean against his sweaty skin.

“Jean? Jean, hey--”

Jean just squeaked, burrowing deeper, and Eren twisted around, nudging his nose against his sweaty hair.

“Jean, hey, baby...hey, lemme sit up...” he squirmed, trying to gently roll Jean off his back. “Baby, lemme sit up, I wanna see your face--”

Marco laid his hands on Jean’s shoulders and gently eased him upright, guiding him into pulling out of Eren. Eren scrambled up onto his knees, oblivious to his shaky limbs, and climbed right into Jean’s lap. He draped his arms heavily over Jean’s shoulders and pressed their foreheads together, rocking slowly on his knees and rubbing himself temptingly over the flushed head of Jean’s cock.

“I love you,” he repeated, letting their lips brush together, and Jean opened his eyes, staring up at him through his long lashes as he wound his arms around Eren’s waist. “ _I love you,_ Jean Kirschtein, and sometimes I think I don’ say it enough.”

Jean held him tighter, hips twitching up into Eren’s teasing rocking. “ _You’re mine,”_ he whispered back, and leaned in to press their lips together. Then he reached down to steady his cock with one hand and rocked his hips up, coaxing Eren into settling down into his lap.

It was slow - they _made_ it slow, Marco reaching in to set strong hands to Eren’s hips, to help control the slide as his thighs started to shake with the tension. It turned their breathing to ragged gasps, Jean fighting to stay still as Eren fought the urge to just drop onto him all in one go, and Marco just _watched_ them both with melted, loving eyes.

It had been good before, leaning over Eren on his hands and feeling him start to shake apart. That had felt good, but this just felt _right,_ Eren in his lap, breath panting out over Jean’s lips, held tight between him and Marco...it felt right with Marco, _because_ of Marco, felt right with all three of them there...As Jean struggled to stay still he found himself flashing on the damn condom wrapper, the approaching expiration date...the sign that Marco wanted this for them, before they’d realized how much they wanted it for themselves.

Jean found Marco’s fingers, still gripping tight to Eren’s hips as Eren settled into his lap, ran his fingers over the backs of Marco’s hands and up his forearms, crooked his fingers just a little to drag his nails back down the sensitive skin inside his arms and make him shiver against Eren’s back.

“Love you,” he said softly, meeting Marco’s eyes over Eren’s shoulder, so he could have no doubt he was included. “Love you _both..._ M-marco, is it...can we...”

“You’re safe, sweetheart,” Marco replied, with a smile so soft it made Jean’s heart melt in his chest. Then Eren moved, experimentally, and Jean forgot about everything but that _feeling._

Eren rode him slow and deep, rocking his hips in long, rolling circles that ground him deep into Jean’s lap. Jean cupped a hand around the back of his head, thumb stroking over the soft ridge of his cheekbone, his jaw, over his full, parted lips, watching Eren’s eyelashes flutter at the touch. His cock left smears of precome across Jean’s belly, flushed so dark in looked painful, and Jean trailed a hand down his side to wrap around him.

He jumped when Eren moved, lightning fast despite his mind-blown eyes, caught Jean’s wrist and pulled his hand away from his cock, shaking his head jerkily. “N-no, not y-yet...I wanna come just f-from this...just from _you--”_ He opened his eyes and stared down at Jean, expression adorably determined, and Jean raised an eyebrow, freeing his hand to stroke his face again.

“ _Can_ you get off untouched?”

“Don’t _know.”_ Eren rocked deep onto him again, a ragged breath panting between his lips as he found his own sweet spot. “G-gonna find _out.”_

Jean chuckled and leaned back on his elbows, running his hands up and down Eren’s thighs and eating up the way his muscles stretched. He took note of the angle, and then bucked up _hard_ into Eren, hitting his sweet spot hard enough to make his head pitch forward, grabbing Jean’s shoulders and _shaking._

Marco slid up behind Eren, tangling his legs with Jean’s, and reached out to pull Eren back against his chest, back into the angle that made him shiver and gasp with every gorgeous roll of his hips. He grinned at Jean, running his hand slow and worshipful up Eren’s arched chest, _look how pretty he is like this, look how good you make him feel.._ He dipped his head to whisper into Eren’s ear, and Eren’s eyes fluttered open as his lips parted around another ragged moan. Giving orders again, Jean thought, watching the way Eren squirmed at Marco’s whispers. _Open your eyes, open your eyes and look at him beautiful..._ Jean tightened his fingers on Eren’s thighs, a heavy shiver running down his spine, he could feel the pressure building low in his gut and Marco hummed, grinding shamelessly against Eren’s side, his own breaths ragged.

“ _E-eren,”_ he managed, over the ringing in his own ears and his ragged breaths, “Eren, _l-love_ you close? I’m not gonna last, baby, feels too good--”

Eren moaned, head falling back against Marco’s shoulder, Marco’s hands everywhere on his body as he rode the same rhythm. “Me too, _me t-too,_ Jean, _Marco, ah, g-god...”_ Marco ran his hand achingly slowly up the length of Eren’s arm, curling it in so he could lave his tongue over the sensitive skin inside his wrist. Eren moaned deep in his throat, slamming down into Jean’s lap, his fingers sketching half-formed signs in the air. Jean moaned with him, his thrusts starting to lose their rhythm as the pressure built. He held onto Eren’s hips like an anchor, finding the angle that made him gasp and arch again, made him moan with every exhale...he was _dripping_ precome, pooling in the hollows of Jean’s hipbones as they drove him closer to the edge, Marco biting hard along his neck--

Jean arched up once more, with all the strength he could wring out of his burning thighs, and Eren collapsed against him with a ragged cry, holding on so hard it hurt to breath and it was _perfect._ His fingers curled through the back of Jean’s leather collar, clinging to it like and anchor and adding the faint sting of pressure on his windpipe to the whirlwind of sensations, heat and sound and pressure pressure _pressure_ that caught Jean at it’s center and threw him over the edge.

He knew he was gasping, moaning, maybe even speaking although he couldn’t hear even his own voice, sparks flashing behind his eyes and heat slicking up his chest as Eren followed him down, squeezing around him and sending him _higher,_ so high it _hurt,_ floating and stinging and _blissfully_ out of control. He felt Marco’s long arms wrap around both of them, clutching tight, heard the muffled Maori curse as Marco fisted himself and tugged desperately, sloppily, nipping teeth pulling another wavering groan from Eren as his come mixed with theirs, spread between them as Eren sagged against Jean’s chest.

It took Jean a few fuzzy minutes to realize just what was making it so hard to breath. It was probably the Eren wrapped around his chest like a squid, face nuzzled tight into his shoulder as he clung to Jean and trembled, utterly overwhelmed.

“Hey,” Jean said, softly, eventually. He felt Eren’s fingers twitch against his back, and rolled his eyes. “ _Hey.”_

 _“_ Hn,” came the grunted reply from the ball of hair hiding in his chest.

“I think I know why the sex we had in college was never that great.”

“Hn _.”_ There was a brief, contemplative silence, and then Eren shrugged and made a slightly muffled farting noise.

“You gonna come out of my neck?”

“ _Hn.”_

 _“Wow,_ Jean, _”_ Marco said brightly, collapsing back onto the futon with a damp cloth and the trashcan from Jean’s bathroom. “You fucked him so hard he turned into you!”

Jean exploded with slightly raspy laughter, and Eren extended a limp arm in Marco’s direction and bonelessly flipped him off.

“C’mere.” Marco chuckled, easing him out of Jean’s lap, catching the base of the condom as it started to slide. “Come _here_ you ball of jello, where’s Mr. Energizer bunny? You’re getting sticky.”

“I can’t feel my legs,” Eren murmured to no one in particular, letting Marco sponge him off.

Marco tossed the towel in a hamper and looked between his two squid boyfriends, still half-wrapped around each other as they processed what the hell had just happened. He bit his lip, hard.

“D’you...shall I give you two a minute? Looks like you’ve...like you might wanna talk--”

His two squid boyfriends went from wrapped around each other to wrapped very completely around _him._ apparently without passing through any intermediary stages like _moving_ in between.

“ _Nope,”_ Jean said firmly, planting his nose in the fine V of hair at the center of Marco’s chest and nuzzling aggressively.

“You go nowhere ‘til we get done thanking you,” Eren murmured in his ear, snuggled tight against his back. “It’s all ‘cause of you, Marco, love...we have this because of you.”

“I forgot to be scared,” Jean whispered into his chest, with a soft, self-depreciating laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever not been scared before, even if it’s just for a second...it’s cause of you.”

All Marco’s words deserted him. He couldn’t find a single thing to say that didn’t ring fake inside his head, and Marco could _always_ find something to say. He settled for wrapping tight around his sleepy boys, feeling them snuggle closer, lazy kisses trailing over his warm skin. Jean idly traced a fingertip over the intricate lines of his tattoos as Eren tugged a blanket up over their tangled limbs. An owl hooted loudly from a tree outside the open window.

“Shutup, _bird,”_ Jean huffed sleepily, and Eren and Marco both chuckled softly.

“Do we have to get up for anything tomorrow?” Eren asked, sliding further down into the pillows with a sleepy sigh.

“Nothing we can’t ignore and feel slightly guilty about.”

“ _Good.”_

“Good,” Jean echoed, his voice already a little slurred. Marco wound his arms tight around his waist, and turned his head to nuzzle a kiss into Eren’s hair.

“ _Everything’s_ good.”

 

 

 


End file.
